


Fights Many Battles

by The_Epitome_of_Pretense



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Abusive Parents, Angst, Angst and Feels, Argonians, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Romance, Betrayal, Blood, Bonding, Budding Love, Coming of Age, Complicated Relationships, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Friendships, Difficult Decisions, Dunmer - Freeform, Dwemer Ruins, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Goodbyes, Grief/Mourning, Healers, Healing Magic, Heavy Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Magic, Morrowind, Neck Kissing, Old Friends, Pillow Talk, Realization, Reunions, Revenge, Robots, Running Away, Slavery, Sleepy Cuddles, Vvardenfell, and there was only one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2020-10-24 19:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 42,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20711210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Epitome_of_Pretense/pseuds/The_Epitome_of_Pretense
Summary: A young Dunmer woman goes on a quest for freedom.





	1. In Which Vaynatah Makes a Difficult Choice

In her forty seventh year, Vaynatah decided that she did not want to spend a full half-century on her father’s plantation in Vvardenfell. She wanted to go somewhere. Yet she had no idea where to go, how to get there, or even how she would cover expenses. 

She slumped forward in her chair, folded her arms on the table, and let her head fall to rest on her arms. 

“Careful, you’ll get flour on your clothes,” said the Argonian on the other side of the table. She gathered up the dough she had been working and formed it into a loaf. 

Fights-Many-Battles had been around for as long as Vaynatah could remember; she always called her Fimb. Other slaves did not last as long. Vaynatah learned not to ask what happened to the ones who disappeared. 

She sat up and dusted the flour from her robes. It did not make any difference to her if her clothes got dirty, but she knew that making a mess would only mean more work for Fimb; Almsivi knew she had more than enough work already. Vaynatah offered to help whenever she could get away with it. There was so much about running a house and taking care of oneself and getting by in the world that she still did not know how to do; she was spoiled and ignorant, and she knew it. She sighed. 

“Would you tell me the one about the Nord you bested?” she said. 

Fimb scored the dough with her claw, a thoughtful look in her eyes. 

“The one where I lured him into the mud, or the one where the fight ended before it began?” she said. 

“The second one.”

She slid the loaf into the oven, then washed her hands in a basin on the other side of the kitchen. 

“Hey, what about mine?” Vaynatah said, pointing to a small mound of dough still sitting on the table. Fimb always made a special roll for her out of the last bits. 

“Ah—how could I forget,” Fimb said, the corners of her lips curling up into a good-natured smile. 

“Don’t worry; I’ll get it.”

Vaynatah got up and put the roll into the oven herself. She had to stuff the extra fabric of her sleeves under her arms to keep them away from the heat. 

“Now where was I?” Fimb began. “I think I was in the woods near Falkreath, swimming in the lake there. The brute saw me rise from the water and decided to make trouble. He had been drinking. Whether the drink made him foolish or he was a fool to begin with, I cannot say. He thought that a naked Argonian would be an easy target. He bade me submit.”

“And you bade him to jump in the lake.”

“That’s right,” she said with a chuckle. “Then he grabbed me by the neck, unaware that I had poisoned my spines—”

“Wait, how did the poison not wash off in the water?” 

“Poisoned wax. Old Argonian trick.” She winked. “It was more than enough to put him out. Then it was he who found himself naked by the lake.”

Vaynatah could picture it. Not the naked Nord, of course—she found their gargantuan stature to be overwhelming and lacking in grace—but she could picture the land. Vast expanses of snowy plain, a sky streaked with color, forests full of game. Did it snow in Falkreath? She had no idea. 

“What is it like there?” she said. “Is there snow everywhere all the time, or…?”

“Not so much in the south. It’s still cold most of the year, though. I didn’t care for the chill. Made me sloadish. Give me a warm bog any day.”

She never talked about Black Marsh for very long. Vaynatah never asked. Just the thought of it made her sick with shame and sorrow. It wasn’t her fault that Fimb was trapped here; but it was her father’s. If she could free her with a snap her fingers, she would do it without hesitation. But life wasn’t that simple. She had tried to convince him to be kinder to all the hands on the plantation, especially the slaves. But the more she argued with him, the more bruises and cuts appeared on the Argonians. In time, she learned to hold her tongue. 

She looked away and tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. 

Fimb sighed and shook her head. 

“Look at that mess,” she said. 

“What mess?”

“Your hair. What am I going to do with you?”

She stepped up behind Vaynatah and combed her claws through her hair, then remade the messy braid down her back. 

“You’ll need to learn how to arrange your own hair if you’re ever going to look like a respectable lady,” she continued. 

“Maybe I don’t want to look respectable.”

“Don’t be silly. You’ll be in charge of this place one day, and then you’ll have to command respect.”

“Maybe I don’t want that either.”

“I’d rather have you in charge than—” She caught herself. “Nevermind. Do you have a ribbon?”

Vaynatah dug one out of her pocket and held it up. When Fimb reached past her shoulder to take it, Vaynatah noticed a series of cuts on her forearm just above her decorated shackle. They were uniformly spaced; it looked like the blood had only just congealed. 

Vaynatah turned to look her in the eye. 

“He did it again, didn’t he?” she said in a quiet voice. She wished it were possible to convey with words how much she hated the situation. 

Fimb looked away, tugging her sleeves down over her skin. 

“It’s nothing you need to worry yourself about,” she said. 

Vaynatah clasped her hand. 

“Let me tend to it,” she said. 

Fimb glanced over her shoulder at the door. They were alone; all the usual sounds of the housework were distant. She nodded her assent. 

Vaynatah stretched out her fingers over the wounded skin, holding them just above, and let out a breath. The magic in her veins came alive at a thought; a chill tingled in her fingers as it flowed from her, seeping into the cuts. The red marks faded to a dull pink that contrasted with the sandy brown scales around them. 

She ended the spell. She could have healed the wounds completely, but her father would notice. If he ever found out someone was healing the slaves, there would be a heavy price to pay. Vaynatah could not be sure if she would have to pay it as well. So far, he had yet to lay a hand on her. But the Argonians would definitely feel his wrath, and that fact alone was enough to warrant her caution. His anger was enough to frighten her into silence; she could not fathom meeting with the ring-blade he wore. 

“Who else?” she whispered. 

“Scrys-Deep.”

She nodded, making a mental note to visit him that evening after dark. 

Footsteps echoed from the hall. Fimb rushed back to her work, and Vaynatah took her braid and pretended that she had just finished tying the ribbon herself. To her displeasure, the imposing figure of her father stepped into the kitchen. 

Ulseth Venim had a tall stature and a grim face, but at first glance did not look like a cruel man. To those he considered his equals, he certainly was kind enough. But the people he considered his equals were few and far between. Vaynatah knew for a fact that she was not counted among that number. 

“Daughter,” he said by way of greeting, “I have good news.”

She doubted that. 

“What news?” she said. 

“Come with me.”

She forced herself not to cast a backward glance at Fimb, then followed him to his study. He gestured for her to have a seat in one of the chairs by the small fireplace. She did so. Her stomach began to churn; she wondered if she was in trouble. Had he found out that she was helping the slaves? She gripped the arms of her chair to keep them from shaking. 

He poured her a glass of flin, then poured one for himself. She gave him a questioning look. 

“Don’t be so shy. Drink up,” he said. “We have cause to celebrate.”

She picked up the glass, but did not raise it to her lips. She wanted to keep her wits about her. 

“Why?”

“Nisfar Dren and I have finally come to an agreement.”

“You’ve decided to sell the plantation to him, then?”

“No, not at all. But he shall acquire it in due time.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, taking a tentative sip. 

“You and his son Nisien are to be wed. The boy has a good head on his shoulders; when I am gone, I know he will be more than capable of managing both estates.” He toyed with his ring, turning it to reveal the small curve of sharpened steel. Vaynatah had seen the damage the tiny blade could do. A tight grip was more than enough to cut deep. 

“Though I suppose I should say  _ the _ estate, since all will be his,” he went on. “I plan on retiring to Mournhold once the transaction is complete.”

Vaynatah nearly choked on her drink. She gripped the glass tighter, determined not to let him see her shock. 

“This is quite sudden.” Her voice wavered. “What if I don’t want to marry Nisien?”

“You want to please your father, don’t you? A daughter worthy of remaining on this estate would do as much.” 

She did not have to guess at his meaning. She took another half-sip to keep herself from scowling. 

“At any rate, Nisien is a good match,” he continued. “You should thank me for arranging this.”

She gritted her teeth. 

“I find it difficult to thank you for a decision I had no say in.”

“Oh, come now. You’ve never shown a mote of interest in running this place yourself. I will not let all that I have sacrificed for this plantation crumble into ash after my death. Make no mistake.”

He caught her eye with a look so sharp she nearly flinched. It was true enough that she did not care for the future of the plantation. Red Mountain take it, she often thought to herself. Then Fimb would be safe from her father’s butcheries. 

His voice interrupted her thoughts. 

“Don’t you have anything to say?” 

“No,” she said, choosing her words with care. “It seems that I do not.”

“Very well. You may go.”

She stood, her mind roiling with anger, her fingers burning with magic waiting to burst into flame. She wished she had told him off. As soon as she was out of sight, she sprinted to her room and shut the door behind her. 

She paced back and forth before the window. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks. She had nothing against Nisien; he seemed decent enough the few times they had met. But the thought of being bound to him against her will—the threat of losing her station if she did not concede—was enough to make her blood boil. 

She pressed her forehead to the cool glass of the window. It was too thick to see anything specific outside, but she could make out the orange glow of the setting sun. She wondered how bad it would be to marry him. She wondered how bad it would be to leave. She stifled a groan. Of course it would be horrible; she had no resources, no skills to sell, no other family. No other family she knew of, at any rate; her mother came from one on the eastern end of the island, but her father never told her which. Could she make a living as a healer alone? That was one area in which she had some ability; the trouble was that every healer worth their salt also knew how to brew salves and potions, and her alchemical skills were passable at best. Maybe she could become an apprentice. But where would she find a master?

She dug her fingers into her hair. It was useless to dream. She had a better chance of becoming a whore than a healer. 

The dinner hour came and went, but she stayed in her room, weighed down by thoughts of the future. Night darkened. It was only after the last glow of day had gone that she rose from her bed. She had not forgotten that Scrys-Deep needed her help. 

Her hand lingered on the door handle. Her knapsack lay on the floor nearby, stuffed with books on restoration magic she had borrowed from the Dren family’s library. The thought of returning them made her sick. Then she would probably have to talk to Nisien—to her fiancé. 

She emptied the books onto her bed and began packing it with clothes and trinkets and practical things. Jewelry too—she could get by for a little while by selling that. She pulled the drawstring right. 

The sight of the bag almost made her vomit. There was no way she would actually leave. It would cause far more problems than it would solve, she could be sure of that. 

She shook her head, dropped the bag by the door, and made her way to the slave quarters. 

She knocked on the door of the smallest hut. After a moment, Scrys-Deep answered. His expression shifted from weariness to surprise, then settled on vague distaste. 

“Mistress,” he greeted. 

“Fimb told me you needed help.”

He nodded and invited her inside. She had been there many times before; Scrys-Deep was just outspoken enough to merit frequent punishment, yet not so brash as to disappear altogether. Other Argonians lay curled up in blankets, crowded by the fireplace. Vaynatah and Scrys-Deep settled themselves in a corner away from the rest. She did not worry about them discovering what she did at night. Everyone who worked under her father came to her eventually. 

He sat with his back to her; she did not have to ask what needed healing. Fresh whip-marks had left a new set of red lines across his shoulders. Vaynatah stretched out her hand and took a deep breath, concentrating on her magic. The cold, otherworldly sensation returned to her palm and snaked over her fingers. When she closed her eyes, she could imagine the magic dripping from her hand. 

Scrys-Deep grunted in pain. 

“Almost done,” she murmured. 

A silence grew between them. He was always quiet around her. She often overheard him talking with everyone else, especially Fimb, yet around her, he was silent as a monk, his face set in a sour look. Fimb liked him, she knew that much. She wanted to know why—not because she doubted his merit, but because Fimb’s approval must mean that he really was friendly deep down. Very deep down. 

“You two have known each other a long time, haven’t you?” she said. 

“Hmm? Who?”

“You and Fimb—um—Fights-Many-Battles.”

“Yes. We fought together in the raids against our homeland.” 

Vaynatah brightened. Fimb rarely spoke of the events that earned her her name. 

“Was she brave? Did she fight with honor?” she said. 

“She was very brave,” he began. “But no, she did not fight with honor. She wasn’t even ‘she’ during that phase of life. But the rules of a fair fight have no place in Black Marsh. If traps and trickery will win the day, then we shall use them. If we have a chance to go for the throat, we shall take it.”

With the last sentence, he turned one yellow eye on her. Her stream of magic guttered out under his scrutiny. She took a final glance to make sure that his wounds had closed, then hurried back to her room. 

When she returned, she found a small bundle sitting on the table just outside her door. The sight calmed the fearful racing of her heart. She lifted a corner of the fabric; underneath lay the special roll of bread Fimb had baked just for her. She smiled and put it in her pocket.

It still felt warm against her leg as she entered her room. She considered putting it in her knapsack just in case, but decided against it. She could not leave, anyway. It was ridiculous to think that she could make it on her own. In addition, she had not eaten anything in hours. 

She stooped down to unpack her bag—only to find that it was not there. She furrowed her brow. 

“Lost something?” came a voice. 

She turned so fast that she all but lost her footing. Her father sat in the chair in the corner, eyeing her with an unreadable expression. He tossed her knapsack on the bed. 

She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off. 

“Don’t bother,” he said. “I should thank you for the laugh.”

“I wasn’t going to,” she said. 

“Of course you weren’t. It’s a good thing, too; you wouldn’t last one night on your own.”

She felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. Even if she had decided to stay, there was no reason to stand there and let him talk down to her. She turned to leave.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” he said. 

His words dripped with threat. She froze in place. He might as well have cast a spell of binding, as powerless as she was to move. 

“Sit down,” he commanded.

She clenched her fists. She was nearly half a century old, she reminded herself; he had no right to talk to her like she was still a child. She stayed where she was. 

“I said sit down,” he said, a growing edge in his voice. 

She gritted her teeth. Even if she was powerless in all else, she would not follow this order.

“If you value your place here, you will sit down. Now.”

In an instant, her will shattered. She was fooling herself to think that she had control over anything. She sank down onto the bed, but refused to meet his eyes. 

He picked a speck of lint off his robes and tossed it away. 

“Tell me what’s troubling you,” he said. 

Tears blurred her vision. The things troubling her were too many to count.

“I don’t want to marry Nisien,” she said. 

“Is there someone else?”

She wondered if a lie would be better or worse than the truth. But if she said there was someone else, then she would have to make up a name, and lie about where they met, and on and on. 

“No,” she said. 

“Then why is there a problem?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is life here really so terrible? With all your dresses and jewelry and mindless little distractions? You act like I haven’t given you everything you could ever want.”

For a split second, she found the courage to say something bold. 

“What I want is for you to stop treating me like a child,” she said.

“I will when you stop acting like one.”

She raised her voice.

“If you would just stop telling me what to do all the time—”

“If I didn’t give you instruction, you would just sit on your bed and be useless all day.”

“That’s not true—”

“I thank The Three that your mother died before she could see you grow into this.”

Searing, white-hot rage lanced through her. Sparks crackled at her fingertips.

“Stop it,” she screamed, “just stop it!”

“You’re angry because I speak the truth.”

“You can’t say those things.”

He rose to his feet, towering over her. 

“On my land I can say whatever I please. You are not the lord here. You are not the father. You are—”

“Be quiet!” she yelled.

Suddenly she was flat on the bed. Pain throbbed on the side of her face. Her tears stopped. Icy fear replaced her rage. It had finally happened. And she knew—deep in her soul, she knew that there was nothing to stop it from happening again. 

She struggled for breath. 

“Get up,” he said, “and stop that pathetic whimpering. I am not the villain here.”

Her face still throbbed in pain. She could not do it anymore. Whether she became a healer or a whore or a common laborer or even dead did not matter; she could not stay there a moment longer. 

“I’m waiting for my apology,” he said. 

She gave none. Before she could think it over, before she could convince herself that it would be better not to, she grabbed her bag and ran. She sprinted from the house and into the night. 


	2. Arrival in Vivec City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaynatah makes her way to Vivec City, where she meets an unlikely ally.

Vaynatah ran until the air felt like knives in her lungs. The knapsack beat against her back. Her shoes tore blisters on her heels. Yet all pain felt distant, as though her body was not really hers. 

When true blackness crept into the edges of her vision, she slowed to a stop. She looked around. The place seemed familiar, but the darkness made it hard to recognize anything. Towering mushroom trees blocked out some of the stars. She collapsed beneath one, letting herself lean against its trunk. She closed her eyes, too tired even to cry. 

Sleep nearly overcame her. But she could not just lie down by the road, not when there might be bandits and wild animals about. What did pilgrims do when they traveled? It was just one more question to which she had no answer. She wished Fimb were there with her. 

She hugged her knapsack to her chest. Going back to her father’s house was out of the question. She would never see Fimb again. The thought nearly brought her to tears. 

One thing was certain: sitting there and doing nothing was exactly what her father would expect her to do. Sheer spite lifted her spirits enough to stand. She wavered. The run had taken more out of her than she realized, but she forced herself to keep moving forward. A sign at the crossroads pointed to Vivec City; she followed it without hesitation. She was not sure what she would do when she got there, but at least it was something. At least it was a plan. 

The early light of dawn had just tinted the sky when she came to the top of a hill. The city stretched out below, its cantons aglow with lanterns, the sound of rushing water echoing in the distance. Vaynatah sat down beneath a tree and watched the light grow steadily brighter. 

A hopeful feeling rose up in her middle. She almost smiled. True, her night had been a trip from Oblivion, but she had made it to Vivec. She had decided to do something, and then she did it, all without any help. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. 

Distant footsteps met her ears. She drew herself up closer to the tree, ready to hide if need be, and looked back the way she had come. A man and his guar rounded the corner. He wore the simple clothes of a traveling merchant and carried no weapons that she could see; his guar seemed especially good-natured. She relaxed a little. Then another man came around the bend; this one carried a sword and a dagger. As if that were not enough to put her on edge, she found that his clothes were tattered, his hair was shaved on either side, various piercings adorned his ears, and tattoos snaked across his gray skin. The only armor he wore was a single leather chestplate. Vaynatah had never met a cutthroat assassin, but she imagined that they must look quite a bit like him. She tried to make herself as small and uninteresting as possible so as not to catch his eye. 

“Is that a comfortable spot, sera?” said the merchant. 

She scrambled to think of something to say.

“No, but the view is worth it,” she managed. 

“Far be it from me to argue with that,” he laughed, then tugged at the reins of his guar. “Come on, Rollie, come on.”

From the edge of her sight, she saw the other man roll his eyes. They continued along the path and disappeared into the city. She let out a breath, then congratulated herself on handling her first possibly dangerous encounter with grace and clarity. Yet she could not stay on that hill feeling good about herself all day. She got up, dusted off her dress, and made her way down the road. 

Vivec City was even more grand than she remembered. She visited once with her father when she was small, but that was years ago. She had not appreciated it then; how could she? To her younger self, the plantation was all the world that mattered. Now she wandered the streets, crossing canal bridges when the fancy struck her, spellbound by the mountainous ziggurats. It did not seem possible that such buildings could exist. She knew she looked like an outlander, gawking at the giant banners as they waved in the breeze, but she did not care. No one told her to stay or go; no one told her to sit down or be quiet; she begged no one’s permission but her own. 

She just wished that someone was with her. Not her father, of course, but a friend—an equal. Seeing beautiful places held less joy when seeing them alone. 

She settled onto a bench where she could look down one of the canals. The Temple of Vivec loomed in the distance, seeming to hover in the morning fog. Perhaps she would go see it. Maybe she would even take some time to pay homage at the shrine—if she had anything to give. She dug through her pockets for any spare coins. Her fingers closed around the bread she had stashed there the night before.

A pang of regret struck her. She wished Fimb could have come along. The Argonian would make everything better; aside from keeping her company and sharing in her excitement, she would know to get around. Best of all, being Vaynatah’s traveling companion would give her a break from the endless work. 

Vaynatah ate half before returning the roll to her pocket. She leaned back against the cool stone. Now that she had some semblance of control over her own future, such as it was, it made her all the more guilty for leaving her friend behind. She had stolen her own freedom, but Fimb’s must be bought. 

A thought occurred to her. Why couldn’t she be the one to buy it? All the jewelry she owned—rather, that her father had given her—was in her knapsack; if that wasn’t enough to buy one Argonian house-slave, she was sure a few weeks of picking up odd-jobs would do the trick. She folded her hands across her middle and let her eyes fall shut. Yes, that was what she would do: sell everything she could, free Fimb, and then go somewhere. Anywhere. Maybe Black Marsh. A Dunmer would not likely receive the warmest welcome, but she felt sure that having Fimb by her side would keep trouble at bay. 

She yawned. The longer she sat, the more she realized how exhausting the journey had been. She would have to find a room for rent before long. Easy enough. But first, she would rest her eyes for just a little while longer. 

She jolted awake. The bread in her pocket was moving. She lifted her eyes to find that a man had sat down beside her—right beside her—and had his hand in the folds of her robe. At first she assumed that he was he was trying to have some perverted fun at her expense, but then she noticed that he cradled her knapsack in his other arm. 

He had yet to notice that she was awake. Before he could finish searching her pockets, she seized him by the wrist and summoned all the fire she could command. 

The thief yelped and jerked away. Before she could stop him, he slung her bag over his shoulder and ran.

Panic set her heart racing. She leapt to her feet and followed. He skidded around a corner, ducking into an archway. When she rounded the corner herself, she found a steep ramp leading to the second level; the thief had already made it halfway up. She hiked up her skirts and breathed deep. She was no sprinter, but he had the extra weight of all her belongings. She ran until her heartbeat drowned out all other sound—yet the thief still outpaced her. She made it to the platform, legs ablaze with pain, just in time to see him disappear behind a large wooden door. 

She burst through after him. Inside she found herself on the upper level of an open room flooded with warm light; merchants stood by tables of goods, but they did not call out their wares like in country markets. Instead, a calm, reverent quiet filled the space. It seemed to her that nothing could disturb the peace. Even when the thief hurried past, few people bothered to take note. 

“Somebody stop him,” she panted. “Stop that man!”

One merchant looked up, rolled her eyes, then returned to her work. 

Vaynatah followed the thief down a long, narrow hallway that branched off the main room. A door lay at the other end. The sight of it, so far away, made her legs ache all the more. She would need drastic measures to capture him at this rate.

She slowed her pace, focused her mind on his retreating form, and hurled a burst of fire after him. 

Several things happened at once. A man stepped through the door at the end of the hall, humming to himself; the thief turned toward the sound of the approaching flames; the fireburst slammed into the side of his head, knocking him into the stranger’s arms. 

“Don’t let him go,” Vaynatah yelled, stumbling to catch up. 

She locked eyes with the man; with a shock, she realized it was the scruffy fellow who had passed her on the road that morning. She hesitated, half expecting him to take the knapsack for himself. Instead, he merely grasped the thief by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet. All the hair on one side of the thief’s face had been singed to the root—even the hair on his chin. The sickening smell of it made Vaynatah wrinkle her nose. 

“N’wah,” the thief growled, “let me go!”

“Not until I get my things back,” Vaynatah said. 

“I don’t know what this madwoman is talking about. These are mine. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

He tried to jerk free, but the man held tight. 

“And how do I know which of you is telling the truth?” the stranger said; his voice carried the raspy quality of an Ashlander. “I don’t have time for this; I’m calling the Ordinators.”

“No!” the thief said. “I mean, there’s no need. The bag is mine.”

“Yes, please call the Ordinators,” Vaynatah said. 

The man gave her a scrutinizing look, then looked over the thief. He tossed her the bag. 

“Hey!” said the thief. “What did you do that for?”

“An honest man does not fear the law. Clearly she is the honest man.”

“She used destruction magic within the city walls,” he said, pointing a finger at her. “And fire spells, at that. Give me the bag, or I’ll turn her in.”

“I thought you didn’t want to bring the Ordinators into this.”

His expression faltered. 

“I don’t,” he said. 

“We’re in agreement, then.”

Before the thief could question the statement, the man pulled open the door, tossed him outside, then slammed it shut behind him. 

Vaynatah finally caught her breath. 

“Thank you for helping me,” she said.

He looked her up and down with an expression that seemed equal parts distaste and curiosity. 

“You’re not from here, are you?” he said. 

“Is it that obvious?”

“Most city-dwellers know better than to sleep on a bench with an armful of valuables.”

“Listen, I’ve had a night like you wouldn’t believe—Wait, how did you know I was asleep? Have you been—have you been following me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he scoffed. “I saw you from the upper balcony.”

“Oh. At any rate, I’d like to pay you for your troubles.”

He turned and started down the hall toward the main room. 

“Keep your money and use it to buy some good sense,” he called over his shoulder. 

She caught him up. 

“Can I get you a drink at least?” she said. 

“I don’t drink.”

“Really? You look like the type who does.”

He raised a brow at her; his snake-like tattoos raised with it. 

“And what is that supposed to mean, exactly?” he said. 

Her face burned with embarrassment. 

“Um—it’s just that—when I first saw you, I thought to myself, ‘Ah, there’s one who can tell the difference between common swill and a fine Cyrodillic brandy.’”

“Good save. And for the record, I can tell the difference, though I would argue that they both taste like swamp drippings.”

“Brandy never appealed to me,” she shrugged. “I like flin best.” 

She paused. No, she realized, she did not actually care for it at all. It was just what her father kept around the house. 

“Nevermind,” she added. “I don’t like flin, come to think of it. I prefer sujamma.”

“Are you always so indecisive?”

“Not really. Except for when I am.”

She cast him a smirk. He studied her for a moment, then smiled and shook his head. 

“Fine, you win,” he said. “You can buy me a pot of tea. Meet me at the Black Shalk later; I have some things I need to buy first.”

“The Black Shalk?”

“It’s the cornerclub in the Foreign Quarter.”

“Oh. Where’s the Foreign Quarter?”

“... We’re in it.”

“I see.”

He turned to leave, but she caught his arm. 

“Wait, one last question.”

“Hmm?”

“Which corner is it in?”

He furrowed his brow. He passed his hand across his eyes and let out a grumbling sigh. 

“Maybe you had better come with me,” he said. 

She followed him to an alchemist’s shop where he bought several elixirs, which he stored in a small pouch made specifically for holding glass bottles. It was in fine condition, and very new; it seemed to be the only article he had with him that was not bought secondhand. It almost seemed out of place amongst his scuffed and worn attire. He tucked the pouch away in his bag and started for the cornerclub. Vaynatah glanced at him sidelong. His face was thinner than most, and his cheeks hollow; even with his gray skin, the dark circles under his eyes stood out. She wondered if it was something she could help. 

“Are you feeling well?” she said. 

A sharpness came into his eyes. 

“Do I not look well?” he said. 

“Well—I mean yes, you look fine. You just bought a lot of health tonics, and I wondered why.” 

“What does it matter to you?” 

Vaynatah narrowed her eyes at him, taken aback. 

“Excuse me for showing concern for the man who helped me,” she said.

The edge faded from his expression. He let out a breath and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. 

“Excuse my temper—I’ve had a rotten couple of weeks,” he said.

“Trust me, I can relate,” Vaynatah said. “So what happened to you?”

He gave her an appraising look, a hint of mischief in his eyes. 

“I’ll tell you over that pot of tea.”

She paused mid-step.

“Ah—I’m afraid I’m a little low on coin at the moment. I’ll need to sell a few things before we go to the cornerclub.”

“Jewelry?”

The comment gave her pause. Her first thought was that she did not want the stranger to know what kind of valuables she had with her; her second thought was that he already had ample opportunity to rob her, but had not, so he must not be the thieving type. She considered making something up, but she knew what a bad liar she was. 

“Huh. Lucky guess,” she said. 

“Luck has nothing to do with me,” he said with a bitter laugh. “I could just tell from experience. Anyway, that shop over there will give you a good price.”

She nodded and ducked into the shop, grateful that he did not follow her in. The “experience” he mentioned must have told him that she preferred to keep her finances private. 

A Kahjiiti woman stood behind the counter, organizing a vase of decorated hair sticks. Vaynatah pulled the bag of jewelry from her knapsack and set it before her. 

“How much could I get for these?” she said. 

Without a word, the Kahjiit pulled open the drawstring and looked inside. Her eyes widened. 

“R’Meaj will need time to price so many trinkets,” she said. “The jewels especially. These are family heirlooms, yes? Very fine, very fine indeed.”

Vaynatah sought out a simple gold bracelet. 

“Could you give me something for this right now? I’m in a bit of a hurry; I’m meeting someone at the cornerclub.”

R’Meaj scratched her chin. 

“Here is my offer: I give you sixty coin for that, you leave the rest, come back after meeting, and by then I have all the prices.”

Vaynatah tried to keep her face neutral. She did not care for leaving her most valuable belongings with a stranger and trusting her to keep her word. 

“What collateral will you give me for my items?” she said.

R’Meaj scribbled a list of her things on a scrap of paper, then copied it on another. She held up a finger for time, swept out of the shop, and returned a moment later with an Ordinator. She showed him the list, then pointed out each item on it. 

“Very well,” the Ordinator said. “I hereby acknowledge that these things will be left in the merchant’s care.” He turned to Vaynatah. “If any are found missing on your return, you will have the law behind you. And so on, and so on.”

He then stamped both lists with an official seal and left the shop. Vaynatah took her coin for the bracelet, pausing a moment before heading out. 

“I have a bit of an odd question,” she said. 

The Kahjiit perked her ears. Vaynatah took that for an invitation. 

“I was wondering if you happened to know how much an Argonian slave would cost. I have a friend whose freedom I’m trying to secure.”

“Hmm…” R’Meaj ran her whiskers between her fingers. “Does this friend work in the fields?”

“No, she works in the house.”

“Ah, that is another matter.”

“In your estimation, would you say that the coin from my jewelry might be enough?”

“You have much value in these items, but, I think, not quite enough for a house slave.”

Vaynatah’s heart sank. 

“Thank you,” she muttered. 

She bid the merchant goodbye with a nod, then met the stranger outside. She tried to keep the disappointment from her expression. Though her jewels would not be enough, at least it would be a start, and a damn good one. As long as the merchant remained trustworthy.

“How much is an Ordinator’s word worth?” Vaynatah said. 

“Not much,” he said. “Unless you got it in writing.”

“Hmm.” She glanced at the list in her hand. “I suppose I’m safe.”

“Safer than carrying all that yourself, at any rate.”

He led the way through the Lower Waistworks to the cornerclub, which was situated, to Vaynatah’s delight, down one of the shorter hallways. 

The Black Shalk lived up to its name in the fact that nearly every wall was draped with dark tapestries, and several similarly colored rugs covered the floor. The bar occupied the center of the room. One corner held tables and chairs, but the other corner was filled with large pillows of every shade of black and blood red and midnight blue. A few patrons lounged around low tables and smoked long, intricately carved pipes which sent pungent, saccharine vapors wafting to the ceiling. 

Vaynatah ordered a pot of tea, two servings of saltrice stir-fry, and a glass of sujamma for herself. It was early in the afternoon for that sort of a drink, but she did not care. She wanted something strong to help her forget the day before. Had it only been yesterday that she ran away? It seemed impossible. 

She joined the stranger at a table in the furthest corner. 

“I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of getting us some lunch,” she said.

The corner of his mouth pulled up into something that was not quite a smirk.

“Far be it from me to turn down a free meal,” he said. 

She noticed a scar on his jaw, just shy of a small chain that ran between his ear piercings. The longer she looked, the more marks she found; some deep, others less so. He had seen his fair share of adventure, she thought to herself. Surely he had a story to tell. With a twinge of embarrassment, she realized that she had yet to learn even so much as his name. She looked away and traced her fingers over some letters that had been scratched into the table. A server brought the food and drink, covering her diversion with the dishes. Vaynatah watched the steam rise from the rice.

“Since I’ve effectively bought your time for the next half hour or so, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself?” she said. 

She chanced to look up at him, but his eyes were unfocused, taking in the room. 

“Not much to tell,” he said. 

“You could give me your name at least.”

He shrugged. 

“I could,” he said, “if I felt so inclined.”

“And do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Feel so inclined.”

“I might if you tell me yours first.”

“Oh fine, be dramatic,” she rolled her eyes. “Vaynatah Venim.”

He gave a curt bow of his head. 

“Azuran Indarys,” he said. 

“Oh, Redoran?”

“Mmm,” he said, sipping his tea. 

A silence fell on the table. 

“So you’re from up north, then?” she said.

“That’s right.”

“You’re far from home.”

He let out a bitter chuckle. 

“I’m much closer to home than I’ve been for some time.”

“So you’re a traveler? A pilgrim?” she said, struggling to hide her growing excitement. “I knew it. What places have you been to? Have you gone as far as Solstheim?” 

He raised a brow at her.

“Is Solstheim what you consider far?” he said.

She pursed her lips and looked away.

“Well, when you say it like that, I feel a little foolish.”

His eyes flicked to hers, then back to his cup of tea.

“My apologies,” he muttered. “It was not my intention to insult you. But yes, I have been to Solstheim.”

“What is it like?”

“Cold like Skyrim,” he said flatly, as if that were the only possible comment to be made. He caught her look again, and she saw in his eyes a hesitant, searching expression.

“Have you really never been?” he added.

“I’ve never been anywhere. The farthest I’ve ever been is—well, I’m not sure I care to admit.”

“I promise I won’t laugh.”

“Can I trust you?”

“More than most people, I like to think.”

“Alright. As long as I have your word.” She took a deep breath and mumbled “Balmora.”

His brows raised in shock.

“Wait—where are you from?”

“Near Lake Amaya.”

“And you’ve only gone as far as Balmora?”

“You said you wouldn’t laugh.”

“I’m not, I’m not. I just find it surprising. Then again, I can’t judge; I never so much as visited the nearest town until about…” he squinted his eyes in thought. “About twenty years ago, I think.”

“What happened twenty years ago?”

“I left home and never looked back.”

Vaynatah nodded. 

“Me too. Though I only just left yesterday.”

“I suspected as much. What was your reason?”

“Well, my father—” she caught herself. Had he actually struck her? Could she be remembering that right? In all her years, he had often raised his voice, but never his hand. Slaves were one thing, but she was his only child; he would not have hurt her so. The memories of the night before seemed as vague as a half-forgotten dream. 

“Let me guess,” Azuran said, “he kept you on a short leash, never let you do anything on your own, that sort of thing.”

“Somewhat. It’s not that he forced me to stay home, it’s just that I never wanted to leave. I mean, I wanted to, but I never did.”

“Because he convinced you that you would die within a month?”

She took an especially large drink of sujamma. 

“Within a week, actually. How did you know?” she muttered. 

He gestured to himself. 

“My mother was the same way. She fussed over me to an excessive degree. There were times when she would not allow me to even leave the house for weeks at a stretch.”

“So now you’re making up for lost time.”

“Exactly.”

She raised her glass. 

“To breaking the chains,” she said. 

They drank well to that. 


	3. Vaynatah's Employment

Their lunch lasted well over an hour, and Vaynatah found Azuran surprisingly easy to talk to. He was even more well-traveled than she had guessed; he told her all about his journeys through Skyrim and Cyrodill; he once even went as far as High Rock.

“So if you had no intention of coming back, how did you end up in Vvardenfell?” she said.

“To be honest, I have no idea. I was just looking for work in the Imperial City, and the next thing I knew, I woke up in prison.”

“What?”

“That’s what I thought,” he said. “I hadn’t done anything wrong, as far as I could tell. Unless there was a law against a Dunmer renting a room.”

“I should think not.”

She wished she knew for sure, but she had never been to Cyrodill. They could have laws against wearing one’s hair a certain way, for all she knew.

“Not a week went by before they took me away from there. Wouldn’t tell me a thing, just sent me away, first by carriage, then by boat. And suddenly I find myself in Seyda Neen, a free man.”

“Did they tell you the reason for it all when you arrived?”

His eyes grew distant. A moment passed before he spoke.

“No, they didn’t,” he said. “They just… let me go.”

She ran her finger absentmindedly along the rim of her glass.

“I suppose that’s just as well,” she said. “You seemed to find work escorting that merchant quick enough.”

“Not an ideal profession, but it put some coin in my pocket. And he was a nice enough fellow. By Azura, I swear that guar of his understood every word I said.”

Vaynatah chanced a laugh. 

“What are you going to do now that you’re done with those two?”

“Treasure-hunting.”

Vaynatah sat forward so fast she nearly toppled her drink. 

“Really?” she said. “What kind of treasure? And where is it?”

He smiled to himself and waved a hand. 

“It’s more of a scavenger hunt, actually. Some mages with the Guild need a sampling of Dwemer artifacts for ‘research’ or some such nonsense, but they didn’t want to get their hands dirty. Or cut off. Or incinerated.” 

“Is it really that dangerous?”

“Only if you don’t know what you’re doing. I read everything I could find about the Dwemer growing up, so I’m wise to most of their tricks.”

“Oh, you read? I mean—of course—being stuck inside must have given you ample time to read.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I didn’t mean to imply—what I meant to say was—”

He gave her an expectant look, a mischievous spark in his eye. She felt herself flush; she sat back and crossed her arms. 

“Well I hope you’re having fun,” she huffed. 

“I am, actually,” he chuckled. “No need to be embarrassed; I know what I look like. I could very well have stayed home if I wanted to look like a spoiled child—like you.”

“Go get lost in a ruin.”

He laughed. 

“Never in my life have I gotten lost indoors or underground.”

“I’ll bet you would if I poured this sujamma into your tea.”

“That won’t be a very effective tactic, considering that cup is empty.”

“Is it—?”

She tilted the glass and looked inside. Sure enough, she had finished it to the last drop. 

“Ah-ha. That’s why I’ve been tripping over my words,” she said. 

“Whatever makes you feel better.”

“Don’t you have some rubbish to dig up?”

Azuran swirled the last dregs of tea in the bottom of his cup. His light-hearted expression faded. 

“I suppose I do.”

She regretted saying anything. Azuran was the only contact she had in the city; if he left, she would have to find her own way again. But if she convinced him to bring her along, maybe even share a small portion of the reward, it would be a start to saving all the money she needed. 

“It must be terribly risky business,” she said. 

“In a way.”

“Injuries must be fairly common.”

“Mmm.”

“Solitary, too. Do you ever get lonely?”

She caught his eye and gave a little grin. A shocked expression overcame his features; he quickly looked down at the table, his movements devoid of their former ease. 

“I sense you’re getting at something,” he said.

“Well, you sound like you could use a healer.”

He relaxed. 

“Know any?” he said. 

“Just myself.”

He regarded her for a moment, then shook his head. 

“The last thing I need is some inexperienced mage tramping headlong into every pressure plate and trapdoor.”

“Your low regard for me is unproven, I think.”

Before he could respond, a new man approached the table. His clothes were just as tattered as Azuran’s, but they were better matched and he had newer shoes. He seated himself next to Vaynatah. 

“Did I hear correctly that you are a healer?” he said. 

“Yes, I am.”

He flashed a grin that was more gold than ivory. 

“My friend and I are undertaking a venture to explore some ruins in the area. It should prove lucrative, and we would split all the loot evenly. We could use a healer on our team, if you’re interested.”

Azuran shot her a warning look. She turned up her nose at him, then faced the other man and gave him her sweetest smile. 

“I would be very interested,” she said. “Do you require a certain amount of experience?”

“None.”

“Excellent, I—”

“Do you mind if I ask which ruins?” Azuran cut in.

The man’s smile disappeared. 

“That is none of your concern,” he said.

“Daedric, or Dwemer?”

The man hesitated. 

“Dwemer.”

“And are you the expert in lightning magic, or is that your friend’s job?”

“Lightning? What are you talking about?”

“How many lightning scrolls do you intend to bring with you?”

“None—why are you—?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve already hired her.”

“You what?”

“Move along, sera.”

The man looked him over. When Azuran’s stern expression did not change, he scoffed and returned to his own table. 

Vaynatah gave Azuran a skeptical look. 

“Well that was rude,” she said.

“Trust me, you don’t want the kind of job he’s offering.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Serious explorers know to bring the right tools. Dwemer constructs are vulnerable to lightning; even a novice knows to bring it with them in one form or another. That man was nothing more than a charlatan.”

“So you think he wasn’t really planning to explore a ruin.”

“No, I’m sure he was. He just wanted to throw unsuspecting bodies into the way of the traps rather than use his brain to get around them. If someone approaches you with a good deal, don’t trust them. That’s my advice.”

“I didn’t ask for your advice. And all this doesn’t explain why you decided to hire me all of a sudden.”

“Because,” he said, steepling his fingers, “you are so staggeringly naive that it would actually be safer to take you into a trap-filled ruin than to leave you to your own devices.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“You offer me insult.”

“I offer you a job. I feel as though I have somewhat of a moral obligation, now that I’ve seen how gullible you are.”

Her anger flared. Something about the way he talked down to her was bitterly familiar; with a twinge of nausea, she realized how it reminded her of her father.

“What do you want, a ‘thank you?’” she said. “I don’t have to sit here and take this. Find another healer or none at all, for all I care.”

She stood and made for the door. 

“Wait—” he started after her and made to take her arm, then paused and caught her eye instead. “My choice of words was less than ideal. I’m sorry.”

When she heard him follow, she had no intention of stopping. Yet his words surprised her; as much as he had irked her the moment before, she had to admit that an apology was one thing her father never gave her. 

“Thank you,” she said, quieter than she meant to.

He gave a solemn nod.

“So,” he said. “Will you come with me? To—ah—to the ruins.”

His shallow cheeks darkened slightly. It must have been the cornerclub’s dim lighting, she thought. 

“How do I know you’re not going to toss me into a trap?”

“Hmm… how about this,” he said. “Promise you’ll buy me another pot of tea when we get back, and I’ll promise not to feed you to the mudcrabs.”

“And the pay? How will that work?”

“You can have fifteen percent of the reward and whatever useless shiny things we find in the ruins.”

She pretended to think it over, holding back a smile. 

“Deal.”

They shook on it. 

“Now then,” he said. “First things first. We need to get you out of those clothes as soon as possible.”

She gave him a suggestive smirk.

“Well, aren’t you direct,” she said. “You know our deal only covered my services as a healer, right?”

His cheeks colored darker than before. Vaynatah almost laughed at the growing panic in his look.

“Wait—that’s not what I meant,” he said.

“And what, pray tell, did you mean?”

“It’s just—those sleeves are no good. Get them caught in the machinery and you’ll be lucky if all you lose is your arm.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I didn’t mean anything else by it. I swear.”

She believed him, but she wanted him to suffer the embarrassment for just a moment longer. She pursed her lips and glanced away. 

“Alright. But I think I’ve changed my mind. I want thirty percent.”

“What? We already made the deal.”

“Thirty or I walk.”

“Eighteen.”

“Twenty-five.”

“Are you always this stubborn?”

“No. Except for when I am.”

He let out a grumbling sigh. 

“Fine,” he said. “Twenty. Last offer.”

“Done.”

She turned and led the way out of the bar, walking quickly so that he would not see her grin. 

They made their way back to R’Meaj’s shop. Azuran kept his distance while the Kahjiit counted out the payment for Vaynatah’s jewelry. After a moment of thought, she decided to split the coin between multiple pouches, which she hid in different places within her knapsack and pockets. 

When everything was arranged, she found Azuran browsing the baskets of clothing that sat on a shelf in the corner of the store. A few dull articles lay draped over his arm.

“These will be less likely to get you killed,” he said. 

She wrinkled her nose. 

“I’m not sure if it will be worth it.”

“Just try. It’s not that bad.”

She ducked behind a changing curtain and slipped out of her robes. She hung them on a hook instead of letting them fall to the floor as she used to do at home; though she never cared much for the garments, the thought of parting with them made her sentimental. She ran her fingers over the fine, extravagantly-colored fabric. The clothes Azuran had picked—which certainly could not be described as new—felt rough by comparison, with snags here and there and several patches. She struggled to arrange them properly. Her old robes were tailored to fit her, but these new garments were loose, designed to accommodate many heights and body types. She found a navy blue sash mixed in, which she used to cinch the waist of the dark gray tunic. Yet several articles puzzled her; the trousers only reached her mid-calf, and there were two long strips of fabric, no wider than her hand, with which she had no idea what to do. 

“Azuran?” she said, “I think I’ll take that advice now.”

She stepped from behind the curtain. Azuran looked up from a nearby bookcase. 

“And you are?” he said.

“Stop joking and help me.”

“Alright, alright. What do you need?”

“Tell me what on Nirn these are for,” she said, holding out the two strips. 

“They go around your legs.”

“Oh. Of course they do.”

She sat down on a stool and began wrapping one of the strips around her ankle. 

“No, no, you need to loop it first,” he said. 

“Loop it?”

“Start it at your knee, take it straight down to your ankle, double back to your knee, and then wrap it from top to bottom.”

She tried to follow his instructions, but soon found herself tangled. Azuran let out an exasperated sigh. 

“What?” she said. 

“By dawn and dusk, let me do it.”

He knelt down in front of her and took the fabric strips, then rolled one loosely around his hand.

“If I may,” he said, reaching for her ankle. She reminded herself not to flinch away. She was not sure how much she trusted him yet, but she trusted him enough for this. 

He gently lifted her leg and twined the fabric about. Soon it became clear what his instructions meant. With skilled hands, he bound the cuff of her trousers snug to her skin. 

It surprised her how unassuming his touch was. His hands never lingered longer than necessary; his bony fingers never sought out her skin without cause. Part of her wished he would.

She watched him tuck the loose lower end into a loop formed by the innermost layer. 

“Oh, I see it now,” she said. “The loop.”

He shrugged and held out the other roll. 

“It’s hard to explain, but simple to do.”

She hesitated. 

“Actually, would you mind doing the other as well?” she said. “I think I’ll understand better if I see it once more.”

He did so, working with the same care as before. 

“You know I’m the one paying you, not the other way around, right?” he said. 

“I could pay you a compliment if that would make you feel better.”

“Alright, let’s hear it.”

She struggled to think of something. After all, they had not even known each other for a day yet. 

“You’re a good conversationalist,” she said.

“Thank you. Although, I did wrap both of these for you. I think I’ve earned two compliments.”

“Um—I like your scars.”

His cheeks darkened again. 

“My scars?”

“I’m sorry if that’s a sensitive subject.”

“No, no, I like them too,” he said. “They’re proof that I’m alive, in spite of everything.”

“That’s what I’ve always thought. I’d like to have one someday. Something tasteful that has a good story.”

He tucked the last bit of fabric, then offered a hand and drew her to her feet.

“That’s the tricky thing about scars, though,” he said. “You don’t get to choose what they look like and what story they tell.”

“I suppose that’s true enough,” she said.

She let her eyes trace over his face, taking in the most prominent mark, which ran along his jaw. A moment passed before she realized that she was still gripping his hand.

She straightened her arms at her sides. 

“So, which ruins will we be pillaging?” she said. 

“Aleft. It’s near Gnaar Mok, just up the Bitter Coast.”

“Are we going all that way tonight?”

“Not with this late of a start. We’ll be stopping in your favorite town for the night.”

“My favorite—? Oh. You mean Balmora.”

With a smirk, he led the way out of the shop. Vaynatah tossed a few coins on the counter and followed. 


	4. And There Was Only One Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaynatah and Azuran arrive in Balmora in spite of an angry kagouti.

They took the western road out of Vivec City, heading north, skirting Lake Amaya. Soon Vaynatah came to miss the clear, open environs of Vivec; as they traveled further, the foliage grew denser, overshadowing the path. The smell of tilled soil drifted on the breeze. It was too much like home. She knew her father’s plantation could not be far off.

She cringed to think how far they still had to go to reach Balmora. When she had traveled with her father, they always went by boat or by guar; never did she have to rely on her own body. Her feet still ached from the night before. Again, she wished Fimb were with her. One of her stories would help distract her from the pain. 

Azuran set a pace that was easy to follow. Vaynatah was grateful; with little food and even less sleep, she knew she would not endure long. The last half of Fimb’s special roll provided a too-small meal. She hid a yawn behind a fold of her plum-colored cowl. 

“Tired already?” he said. “We’ve only just left.”

“I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Ah.”

They continued in silence for a time. From the corner of her eye, she could see him glancing her way now and then. 

“Nightmares?” he said. 

A moment passed before her muddled thoughts could sort themselves out. 

“No,” she said. “I mean, yes. A terrible nightmare.”

Guilt and shame twisted her stomach; she had run away from her nightmare, but Fimb and all the others endured much worse. Her father was right; she was weak. How was she to survive in the real world when she could not even get by at home? 

“What was it about?” he said.

“Um—” She wondered what would happen if she told him the details of why she ran—if she let on just how vulnerable she was. Did she trust him that much? What if he returned her to her father for the reward money? She almost laughed at the thought of her father offering a reward. No, he would wait for her to come crawling back. With that fact in mind, she decided that there would be no harm in getting the story off her chest. 

“I was trapped,” she began. “I had been that way for years. And then my father—well. Something terrible happened, and I ran.”

He looked at her sidelong, his eyes full of understanding. 

“I hope your dreams are better tonight,” he said. 

“They can’t be worse,” she chuckled. 

The breeze brought a new smell with it—a nauseating smell—the smell of something that had died. 

Vaynatah pressed her sleeve to her nose. 

“B’Vehk, what is that?” she said. 

They made their way cautiously around a bend in the path. At the base of a hill, half-obscured by a large shrub, lay a bloated carcass, slightly larger than a guar. 

“Kagouti,” Azuran muttered. “Should have guessed.”

Curiosity made her want to step closer, but the overpowering smell held her back. 

“I’ve never seen one in person before. Only in books,” she said. 

“Shame that it’s dead. Though I suppose that’s better than it being alive.”

She let her eyes rove over the unsettling sight. In spite of its rough skin and the imposing red frill on the back of its neck, she found it hard to believe something so bulky and ungainly could be much of a threat. 

“Are they really that dangerous?”

“Do those horns look friendly to you?” he said. 

Vaynatah shrugged. 

“They could be decorative. Men often brag about ornaments that look impressive but are otherwise useless.”

“Oh no, a metaphor. I’ve been utterly gutted. How dare you,” he sneered. 

She sneered back. His foul expression broke into a reluctant grin; he bowed his head and stifled a laugh. Vaynatah could not help but join in. 

“But what I don’t understand,” she said when she had calmed down, “is the color of its frill. The books never mentioned them being red.”

“Could be mating season,” Azuran said, resuming their walk. 

“A mating Kagouti?” She laughed. “What a silly thought.”

They continued at the edge of the path to give the body a wide berth. As they approached, a mudcrab crept from the direction of the lake and picked its way toward the kagouti. Vaynatah wondered why more scavengers had not already claimed it; it had certainly been dead long enough. 

It did not make sense. 

She put a hand on Azuran’s arm and brought them both to a stop. 

“What is it?” he said. 

“I don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right about all this.”

“A rotting animal may be unpleasant, but it’s nothing to get upset over.”

“It’s not that, I just—”

There came a rustling from the thicket, then a deep hiss. The sound of breaking branches. A long, bellowing cry. 

A massive form, bigger than the first, burst through the underbrush and into the clearing. Before she could get a good look at the beast, it charged at the mudcrab and bored it into the ground, skewering it on one of its horns. It tossed its great head, sending the mudcrab through the air and back into the lake. 

The dead kagouti’s mate turned to them. It let out a low, reverberating hiss. 

Vaynatah’s blood ran cold. She gripped Azuran. 

“Get in the water,” he whispered.

“What?”

The beast bellowed and stomped the ground. 

“Now!”

Vaynatah could not be sure who ran first. With both clutching the other, they dashed off the path. The kagouti’s heavy footfalls shook the ground. She ignored the pain in her already weary feet and pushed herself faster. The land sloped down at a sharp angle, ending in a small beach. In a blink, she decided she would rather not risk tripping on the steep hill; she let go of Azuran and leapt straight to the sand. 

A snapping sound echoed in her ears. Pain lanced up her leg. She fell to her knees. 

Azuran knelt just long enough to wrap her arm over his shoulders, then took off for the water. She barely had time to brace herself before they plunged into it. In the span of a moment, they were in water too deep to reach the bottom. Vaynatah struggled to stay afloat. She tread as well as she could and glanced back toward the beach. The kagouti was there, stomping back and forth, churning up the shallows with its massive claws. It gave another bellow, but did not venture deeper. 

Azuran caught her eye.

“Are you alright?” he said.

“For the most part. You?”

“I think so.”

“Good. Let’s get out of here; I’m freezing.”

As they swam to the opposite shore, the cold leached away the pain from her ankle. She swam a little faster, confident that the damage must not be severe. 

Then the water grew shallow, and she chanced putting her full weight on the injury. A jolt of agony blinded her for a moment; she crumpled to her hands and knees, her face just above the water’s surface. She crawled the rest of the way up onto the bank. The pain returned with a vengeance. She sucked in a breath and sat down. 

Azuran crouched beside her. 

“What’s wrong?” he said.

“My ankle,” she groaned. “I took that landing harder than I thought.”

“Can you make it up the hill at least?”

“Maybe. Let me try something first.”

She placed her hand on the joint; even through the wrappings, she could tell that it was already beginning to swell. She took a deep breath. The magic came forward with little more than a thought, following the first sign of her intention. Her breathing grew short, and her hands began to tremble. The pain lessened, but shadows crept into the corners of her eyes. She let the spell dissolve. 

Weariness overcame her. She slumped forward and gasped for air. 

“What happened?” he said. 

“I think… I think I’ll need to rest before trying that again.”

He helped her sit up and offered his shoulder to lean on. She took it gladly. He opened up his bag, drained out the water, and rummaged through it. Soon he found the pouch of healing tonics; without hesitation, he drew one out and handed it to her. 

“No, no, I’ll be fine in a moment,” she said. 

“Trust me, you’ll want to take this. We may not have a moment.”

He pointed to the lake. The water rippled and churned like a pot about to boil. Vaynatah knew what that meant: the slaughterfish were getting impatient. She had seen their handiwork on the shore by her home. Once it was the shards of a scrib carapace, once it was a tortoise shell, and once she had watched an old cliff racer land for a drink, only to be seized by the throat and dragged under. It had not even made it to the water’s edge. The fish had thrown itself on land, grabbed its prey, and flopped back in. She remembered how the cliff racer struggled and cried. She had cried, too. The memory made her shudder. 

She jerked her feet out of the water. He offered the tonic again; she took it and drank it down without a second thought. The pain faded to a tolerable degree. With Azuran’s help, she slowly made her way up the hill and far away from the bank. 

They stopped for a rest at the top. It took several moments for Vaynatah to catch her breath; Azuran took even longer. He fished another tonic out of his bag and downed it himself. 

“Are you hurt too?” she said. 

“Just taking precautions.”

It seemed strange to her, but she decided not to press the issue. She tested her weight on her ankle; it still hurt, but not as much as before. 

“I’m not sure how far I can get like this,” she said. “Is there anywhere closer we can stop for the night?”

“Not unless you like sleeping in a mineshaft.”

She let out another groan. She drew herself up straighter. 

“Alright. We had better get going,” she said. 

“Of course. May I?”

“May you what?”

He lifted her into his arms. 

“Oh,” she said. “Yes, you certainly may.”

“It’s faster this way, you see.”

“Far be it from me to refuse a free ride,” she smirked. 

“Enjoy it while you can,” he said, starting back on the path. 

“Oh, I will.”

Though they were both soaked to the skin, she could already feel his body heat beginning to seep through their wet clothes. She relished the sensation—in spite of her better judgment. It would not do to get involved with a man whom she would likely not see again when the job was done. 

His voice interrupted her thoughts. 

“With all these services I’m providing, you should be paying me for this venture.”

“Alright. You’re a strong swimmer,” she said. 

“What?”

“Just paying you another compliment.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. 

Soon the mountains of the lower West Gash came into view, blocking their view of the setting sun. Vaynatah hoped they would not be caught in those mountains at night; even during the day, places like that made her uneasy. They made their way up the pass, leaving behind the lush environs of the lake for the stark volcanic rift. The dead trees all about looked like skeletal arms reaching out of the ash; with a chill, she thought of all the times she had visited her family’s tomb and left sprigs of willow anther by her mother’s ashes. Vaynatah had been so young when she died. She remembered how Fimb would hold her and comfort her as she mourned; her father could not abide her tears and would send her away. 

Azuran slowed his pace. He glanced this way and that, peering up and down the valley. 

“Something wrong?” she said. 

“Not yet. I just hate this place.”

“Bad memories?”

“No. But bad things happen in spots like this.”

His arms tensed around her. 

“Would it help if I walked?” she said. 

He nodded. 

“If you can.”

“I’ll try.”

He set her on her feet, slowly, so that she could find her balance. Her injury still ached, but she could get by better than before. He offered his left arm for her to lean on, leaving his sword arm free. They continued north up the rift. 

A breeze picked up, bringing a spray of ash with it. She squinted against the wind. Azuran jerked his cowl up to cover his nose and mouth with a movement so quick that Vaynatah almost did not notice. He secured the garment with fastidious care.

“Don’t you like the ash?” she chided. “And you call yourself a Dunmer.”

“This thrice-accursed ash is the reason I left Morrowind,” he grumbled. 

“Oh. Not to see the world?”

“I had more than one reason.” 

“Fair.”

Only when they had passed out of the rift and were well into the river valley did Azuran lower his cowl and loosen the grip on his sword hilt. The hills became gentle and green; the distant cries of cliff racers became almost too quiet to hear. Soon she could smell the crisp, damp scent of the Odai river. Then they turned a corner and saw, just a short walk away, a town straddling the water. 

The mournful cry of a silt strider met her ears. It must have been the ash that made it happen—perhaps the rays of the setting sun—but she found her sight blurred by tears. The anticipation of rest made her legs ache all the more; she leaned heavier on Azuran. He stumbled, catching himself before he could fall. 

“Sorry,” Vaynatah said. “I didn't consider that you must be tired too.”

He chuckled grimly.

“I’ve had much worse than this, trust me.”

She did her best to support her own weight as they stumbled into town. It was nearly dark by the time they reached the South Wall cornerclub; the cold night air chilled her still-damp clothes. She expected the innkeeper, a short Imperial, to comment on their disheveled appearance, but he took their coin without a fuss and directed them to their room.

When he opened the door, Vaynatah found that the room only contained one bed.

“I thought you said this was a room for two,” she said to the innkeeper. 

“The bed sleeps two,” he replied. “Good night.”

With that, he returned to the main chamber. She let him go; she was too tired to dispute the situation, anyway. She tossed her knapsack on the table in the corner and emptied out all of her things, hoping they would be dry by morning. When she looked up from her work, she found that her companion had taken off his cowl and leather chestplate. He reached behind his head and tugged off his shirt next. She had not realized how much his clothing had obscured his form; though tall, he was surprisingly thin and wiry. The tattoos on his face stretched down to his shoulders and chest. 

A moment passed before Vaynatah could react. She looked away. 

“I know I’ve been a bit of a flirt, but do you think I’m that easy?” she said. 

He draped the shirt over the bedpost. 

“Don’t flatter yourself. I refuse to sleep in those wet clothes,” he said. 

“Do you really expect me to share a bed with you in that state?”

“I know I’m not much to look at, but I can’t afford to catch a chill. If I get sick, this whole venture’s over.”

“You forget I’m a healer.”

“A healer with a wounded ankle. Though if you prefer, I could put the clothes back on and we could cuddle for warmth.”

The notion struck her as ludicrous, partially because of how exhausted she was, partially from hearing the word “cuddle” spoken in his deep, gravelly voice. Vaynatah could not contain her sudden burst of laughter; she doubled over in a fit. 

“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” she said. “I’m too tired to argue.”

She stripped off her own clothes down to her underthings as he had done and sat down on the edge of the bed. Though she hated to admit it, being rid of the damp was a vast improvement. 

“Here—I’ll take the wall side,” he said, crawling past her. “So I’m not blocking you in.”

“That’s very considerate. Thank you.”

She stretched out beside him and pulled up the covers, keeping her movements as even as possible. She did not want to give him any excuse to interpret her actions as an advance or an invitation. He glanced at her sidelong. 

“Just so you’re aware, I’ll not have any funny business,” he said. 

“Any what?”

“I know you’re dying for a taste of this, but you had best keep your hands to yourself,” he smirked. 

Vaynatah could not help but smile. 

“Are you flirting with me now, or are you joking?” she said.

“Any attempt at flirtation on my part would have to be a joke.”

“Why is that?” she chuckled. 

“Well,” he gestured to his face. 

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. You’re plenty handsome—” She caught herself. She observed him from the corner of her eye, monitoring his movements. 

He regarded her with a confused expression. 

“Is scarred and malnourished what you consider handsome?” he said. 

“I’ve already told you I like your scars.”

Vaynatah gritted her teeth. Her attempt to not lead him on was off to a terrible start. Flirtations and compliments at a cornerclub were one thing; in bed, they were another. She needed to direct the conversation elsewhere—somewhere less physical. 

“Although,” she added, “if I’m honest, I think it’s your demeanor that I like best. When that thief took my things, no one else lifted a finger. You’re the only one who had the decency to help me.”

“Don’t give me too much credit,” he said, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I just did it for the free pot of tea.”

“Sure you did. And the fact that I was a pretty young lady in need had nothing to do with it.”

“For the record, I didn’t catch a good look at your face until we sat down to eat.”

“Then you must be a blind man.”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of a blind man?” She laughed. “That’s it, I’ve had enough silliness for one day. Good night.”

“... Good night.”

She pulled her braid over her shoulder and settled deeper into the pillow. It was a cheap thing, stuffed with straw instead of feathers, but to Vaynatah, it was the best thing she had felt that day. She began to drift away. 

A thumping sound arrested her from her doze. It began quietly, but soon grew to a noticeable rhythm. She sat up and glanced around, her mind still hazy. 

“Do you hear that?” 

Azuran started from his sleep.

“Huh…?”

“I said did you hear that.”

“Hear? Hear what?”

“Listen.”

The thumping grew louder.

“Is someone at the door?” he mumbled.

“No, I think it’s coming from the wall—”

Then the moaning began. The muffled sound of mingled voices filtered into the room.

“Oh, for pity’s sake…” he said. “Thank you for waking me up. I’m so happy I get to bear witness to this momentous occasion.”

“If I had known what the sound was, I wouldn’t have woken you,” she spat. 

“No, no, I’m glad you did,” he said, crossing his arms. “I would much rather listen to that racket than get a good night’s sleep.” 

She crossed her arms as well.

“S’wit,” she said. 

They lay wordless for a time, letting the noise from the other room fill the air with awkwardness. Vaynatah sifted through her memories of the day, searching for something that could distract her from the happy couple next door. Yet her thoughts often wandered back to the feeling of being in Azuran’s arms, to that scar on his jaw, to the elegant way his tattoos seemed to drape over his form. 

She wondered what would happen if she made good on her flirtations. It would be a bad idea, to be sure—it would be just the thing her father would disapprove of. 

She cringed. Her father was the last thing she wanted to think about in that moment. 

The noise from the other room reached its peak, then died away. Azuran gave a slow clap. 

“Well. Good for them,” he grumbled. “And good for us; now we can finally get some rest.”

He curled up on his side and tugged the covers closer around his shoulders. Vaynatah doubted she would be able to sleep anytime soon; she folded her hands across her stomach and tapped her fingers. A question pricked the back of her thoughts.

“Azuran?” she said. 

“Hmm?”

She inched closer, until the side of her arm touched his back. 

“Would you—” she paused. Before she could finish, her resolve disappeared.

She sighed. 

“Would you show me again how to do those ankle-wraps in the morning?” she said. “I’ve forgotten already.”

A moment passed before he spoke. She wondered if he was asleep again. 

“I might,” he said. “If I felt so inclined.”

“Do you?” she said before she could stop herself. 

“Do I what?”

“Feel so inclined.”

Another pause. 

“Ask me in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The kagouti incident was inspired by true events. My roommate and I were playing some Morrowind when I came across a dead animal labeled "Mating Kagouti." Here's how it went down:
> 
> Me: *approaches corpse*  
Me: "Mating Kagouti? AAAH—"  
Me: *gets attacked by other mating Kagouti*
> 
> Sadly, I couldn't quite get the perfect comedic timing to translate to the page, so I had to alter it. I just wanted both of my readers to know how the inspiration actually happened, XD


	5. An Occurrence North of Balmora

The dawn brought rain with it. Vaynatah awoke to the sound of thunder echoing outside. She pressed her eyes closed; it was too early to be up. Fimb would probably wake her again soon, but for now, she resolved to get more sleep. 

Another peal of thunder brought her to full consciousness. The dim lantern light revealed the rented room at the South Wall; with a pang of regret, she remembered that home was far behind. 

She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Azuran was still dreaming; she did her best not to wake him as she got out of bed and dressed herself. To her relief, all her clothes and the things in her bag were finally dry. Even the pain in her ankle had lessened; now that she was well rested, it only took a small portion of her magicka to erase the pain completely.

Azuran shifted and stretched. The covers slipped down as he arched his back, showing the rope-like muscles of his arms and how his ribs pressed up under his skin. Vaynatah looked away. She fumbled with her leg-wraps, scrambling to arrange them before he got up. She did not want to ask him to do them for her again; she felt foolish for doing so the night before. Everything about the night before made her feel foolish. 

“Good morning. Did you—” he paused to yawn. “Did you sleep well?”

She tucked in the last bit of fabric. 

“Better than you, apparently,” she said. 

“Any nightmares?”

He caught her eye. Drowsy and disheveled as he was, his expression held the same concerned, knowing look as it did before. 

“No,” she said. “Not this time.”

“Good,” he said, and reached for his shirt. 

The rain had lessened by the time they made it outside, though thunder still rumbled now and then. They lifted the hoods of their cowls to block out the drizzle. More than once, a strong wind threatened to tear their cowls away. 

“So,” Vaynatah said, gripping hers close about her neck, “where do we go from here?”

“West.”

“Over the mountains?”

“There’s a pass not far from here. South is the wrong direction, and I don’t want to go too far north unless we’re near the sea.”

“Why not?”

“Do you want a facefull of ash?”

“I’d rather that than a noseful of swamp.”

“Trust me, this way is better. Come on.”

They took the north path out of town past the Temple; there they found a place where the land did not slope as steeply upward. Even so, it looked to be far from an easy hike; it made Vaynatah glad that her ankle had healed. 

The faint trail crossed back and forth up the mountainside. Small cairns punctuated each turn. Yet as slow as the progress felt, she soon looked up from her own feet to find the road far below. One false step could easily send her tumbling down. The idea made her shudder; she stepped closer to Azuran. 

Something about his expression seemed distant; his eyes did not quite focus, and the set of his jaw was almost slack. His breath, though quiet, sounded rough and labored. 

“Are you alright?” she said, nearly out of breath herself. 

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You seem tired.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” he snapped.

“There’s no need to be rude.”

“By Azura, stop talking to me until we get to the top.” 

The edge in his voice silenced her. He had seemed so cordial that morning; she wondered at the sudden change. The sickness his tone instilled in her reminded her too much of home. One thing was sure—if he spoke to her that way again, she would have a word with him. 

The rain faded, leaving nothing but a heavy, gray cloud stretched above them. Soon they reached the top of the pass and saw plainly both the fertile environs of the Odai on one side, and the dark green of the Bitter Coast on the other. A mist still lingered below. The sight struck Vaynatah as something better fitting for a song or a memory—as though quiet beauty of that sort was not meant for living eyes. 

Azuran leaned a hand against a boulder and breathed deep. 

“How much farther?” Vaynatah asked. 

“We’re only a third of the way there. Luckily,” he paused for another breath, “getting up here was the hardest part.”

She watched his shoulders rise and fall, shuddering with the effort to appear unaffected. She almost asked him how he felt, but stopped when she remembered his previous reaction. 

“I don’t know about you, but I certainly need some rest before we go on,” she said, lowering herself beside the boulder and lying back against it. 

To her satisfaction, Azuran agreed. He settled down beside her. She glanced northward, where a distant cliff racer wheeled about on an updraft. Beyond that, Red Mountain loomed. It had never appeared so close before. 

“Have you ever been to the Ghostfence?” she asked. 

“No.”

“Why not? It seems adventurous enough.”

“Because I don’t fancy a case of the Blight.”

“I think I’ll go there someday just to say I did,” she said. “Then I’ll keep going north, all the way to Solstheim.”

He raised a brow at her. 

“And then?” he said. 

“Then… I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go to Skyrim next. Or wherever. I don’t care—as long as it’s somewhere new and beautiful. Maybe I’ll never settle down.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw him turn to look at her. She could not be sure, but she thought she saw admiration in his gaze. 

“It’s a hard life,” he said.

“It can’t be that bad if you’re doing it.”

“I didn’t hire you to insult me.”

“Oh, right. You’re the greatest adventurer in all the world. Truly, no other can compare.”

He chuckled. 

“You seem to have this planned out. What will you do for money?”

She shrugged. 

“Probably tag along with treasure-seekers like you.”

“It isn’t always hiking, you know. It’s often dangerous.”

“I’m not worried about that. If any trouble comes up, I’ll just have my companion toss me into the nearest lake.”

“Did you have a better idea?”

“Sure I did. I was going to lasso a cliff racer and fly away—a big one like that fellow over there.”

He looked where she pointed, squinting his eyes nearly shut. 

“I don’t see it,” he said. 

“What do you mean? It’s right—”

When she glanced toward Red Mountain, the words died in her throat. The cliff racer was nowhere to be seen—and neither was Red Mountain. The volcano had vanished behind a ruddy orange haze. Were it not midmorning, she might have mistaken the view for a sunset. Yet the darkening cloud approached, whipped closer and closer by the same wind that drove away the rain. 

“B’Vehk, what is that?” she said. 

Azuran got to his feet and squinted into the distance. 

“It can’t be…” he muttered, “not this far south…”

He swore under his breath. 

“What? What is it?” she said. 

“Ash storm.”

He said it quiet as a prayer, fearful, almost reverent, as if the Almsivi themselves stood before him, hands raised to destroy. 

Vaynatah had never seen an ash storm before. As rare as it was for one to come so near Balmora, it was nearly unheard of near Lake Amaya. The stories made her glad to live in such an uneventful—if uninteresting—place. 

Azuran scrambled to arrange his cowl over his face. Vaynatah did the same, concerned by his panicked demeanor. The stories never painted a cheerful picture of the storms, but they did not sound as perilous as Azuran’s behavior would have her think. 

“Are we in serious danger?” she said, trying to hide her growing unease.

“What? Of course not. You’ll be fine—I mean, we’ll be fine,” he stammered. “Everything will be fine once we put some distance between us and that storm.”

Already the fine ash was beginning to filter down to them. The scant sunlight grew even more dim, diminishing to an orange glow. The wind blew harder. Azuran hurried down the westward path and beckoned her to follow. She caught him up.

“So,” she said, attempting to resume their earlier conversation, “do you plan to keep treasure-hunting all your life, or…?”

“Yes.”

His tone conveyed an intention to end the talk there. But Vaynatah determined to keep him talking, to learn as much as she could. After all, if this was to be her life and her future, she needed all the information she could get.

“How are you going to provide for yourself when you’re older?” she said.

He chuckled grimly. 

“Thankfully I’ll be dead long before then.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

He waved a hand.

“It’s not important. Let’s keep going.”

“That’s a terribly gloomy outlook on the future.”

“The future is gloomy. I just want to survive long enough to buy passage off this gods-forsaken island.”

“Is that why you’re on this job? Just to get out of here?”

“I thought that was apparent.”

Vaynatah tried to imagine what it would be like to leave Morrowind for as long as he had. In spite of the bad memories, it struck her how homesick she would be. There was something special about existing in a land as harsh and hostile as Vvardenfell—something she felt proud of. She wanted to leave, of course, but not forever. Especially if Fimb did not come with her; it would be too lonely. Part of her had to admit that she would even miss her father in a way—not so much out of love, but merely out of the fact that he had always been a part of her life. 

“Surely you’d like to come back eventually,” she said. “Don’t you miss your m—I mean—isn’t there anyone here you miss while you’re away?”

His step faltered. He clutched his cowl tighter and walked a little faster. 

The air grew dense with fine ash; even Vaynatah’s cowl could not stop all of it. She walked with her eyes nearly closed. Still, they burned and watered so much that she could barely see. She stumbled. She would have toppled down the rugged hill had she not bumped into Azuran; he unceremoniously pushed her back to her feet and continued in silence. He picked his way down the rocky slope, head bowed, shoulders hunched. 

The wind lessened at the base of the hill. Soon the ash had thinned enough that Vaynatah could see the terrain; everywhere she looked was cloaked in shadow. Great trees, hung with moss and bespotted with mushrooms, blocked out the sun and made the place appear as an unending expanse of green. The ground became marshy and unsure. Algae-filled pools dotted the ground. Fimb would like it here, she thought. 

“I wonder if Black Marsh is at all like this,” she mused. “Have you ever been?”

“Of course I have,” he said, his voice raspier than usual. 

“What is it like?”

“It’s a swamp. Can we dispense with the—” he paused for breath, “with the pleasantries?”

His tone carried the haughty annoyance of one talking to a child. Vaynatah scowled at him. 

“Why do you do that?” she said. 

“What?”

“You’re so kind to me one moment, and mean as a kwama the next.”

“I am not in the mood for—for conversation.”

Vaynatah could not let it end on that note. For the first time in her life, she felt as though she had the ability to speak up for herself, that she was among equals. She would not let this man silence her the way her father had. Her cheeks burned with anger. 

“Weren’t you ever taught to mind your manners, or do adventurers leave their decency behind with their homeland?” she said. 

He turned to face her, his eyes harsh with anger and hurt. 

“I had good reason to leave. I told you that already,” he said, his breath growing shorter. 

“Oh yes, your mother loved you too much. It must have been horrible,” she spat.

“Do not act like you know me—you have no idea how I lived then—what I’ve—endured—”

He swayed on his feet. He leaned on a tree for support, all but gasping for breath. Vanatah’s anger disappeared in an instant. She rushed to his side. 

“Are you alright?”

“I’m—I’m fine.”

“Here, let me help you.”

She reached out to him, but he swatted her hands away.

“I said leave me alone,” he hissed. “I don’t need your—your pity—”

His voice caught. He clutched at his middle and fell into a fit of coughing. Vaynatah did not wait for instruction or invitation, but reached into his bag and pulled out the pouch of tonics. 

“Here, take one of these,” she said, trying to sound calm. 

“Not here,” he said between coughs. He pulled his cowl so tight she wondered how he could breathe at all. “The ash…”

Vaynatah glanced skyward. The wind blew southeast; if they continued northwest, she reasoned, they would escape the haze sooner. 

“Right,” she said. “Let’s get you somewhere safe. Come on.”

She took his arm, and they started slowly along the vague path. He leaned more heavily upon her as they went; in time, she found it necessary to pull his arm over her shoulders. She could feel his breath coming in short, labored bursts as he struggled not to cough. The ash thinned more and more; soon a large, distant platform came into view. Vaynatah recognized it as an ancient Dunmer stronghold, like the ones she read about in her histories. Without a word, she directed their steps toward it. 

A main chamber and a smaller outbuilding lay situated atop the sand-colored stone platform. Good sense told her that she would find bandits or slavers hiding within, but she decided to risk entering the outbuilding anyway. A flight of stairs stood between them and their destination; Vaynatah did not have to ask to know that Azuran was in no shape for another climb. She wished that she knew the Telvanni spell for levitation. Instead, she laid a hand on Azuran’s chest and summoned a small portion of her magicka, directing it to ease his pain and bolster his strength. Her palm cooled at the contact, at the whisper of magic flowing between them. They mounted the stairs and reached the door with little trouble. 

She threw her shoulder into it; the door creaked open on its old hinges just enough for them to slip inside. 

Vaynatah almost stopped and stared at the structures within. Two great pylons filled the room with an entrancing violet light, glowing with branches of magic that waved about them. If she remembered her reading, they were used for teleportation. She wished they could blink her and Azuran far away from the storm. 

The door banged shut behind them. The sound it made startled her from her wonder. Before she realized what she was doing, she halted the flow of magic. 

Azuran stumbled and fell to his knees. 

A chill ran through her. This was not how things were meant to be, she thought—the seasoned adventurer was not supposed to be overcome like this. He was supposed to know where they were and what was happening. He was supposed to be the strong one.

She lowered him down and helped him onto his back. He pried at the straps of his chestplate; she helped him unfasten it and toss it aside, then pulled the cowl away from his face. She had to stop herself from crying out in alarm. His cheek had grown pale, but his lips were dark and discolored with a strange shine; with a shock, she realized that it was blood. His whole body shook with the effort to breathe. Every cough brought more red to his lips. He let out a whimper of pain. 

The sound twisted her insides with fear. She could scarce imagine the amount of agony it would take to elicit such utterings. 

“Oh no. No, no, no,” she whispered, her voice growing with every word. “I know I was an ass before, but don’t you dare go anywhere, you hear me?”

He could not speak.

She found one of the tonic bottles and laid his head on her lap. Still he coughed; the medicine would do little good if he could not swallow it. She placed her hand on his chest again—it heaved so violently that she could barely maintain contact—and summoned her magicka in full force, consequences be damned. 

The effects hit her instantly. The strain sapped her energy in a powerful burst. Azuran gasped at the sudden chill. She felt the tendrils of healing magic seep through him, seeking out the damage, settling strongest within his lungs. It became clear to her how damaged they were. Scarred, as it seemed, with years of disease. 

His body began to steady; his trembling calmed, and his breath grew more even and deep. The violet light of the pylons flashed brighter for a moment. She ignored it. Keeping her hand on his chest, she tore out the tonic bottle’s cork with her teeth and brought it to his lips. He faltered, but managed to swallow the draught. For a moment, she believed that everything would be alright. 

Then she felt cold steel press against the side of her neck. 

“Make one move, and you die,” a voice hissed. 

Vaynatah went rigid. Her heart raced with panic. 

“Please,” she said. “We want no trouble.”

“Pretty words from an intruder,” the voice said. From the tone and the honey-like smoothness, Vaynatah could tell it was a Kahjiit. She scrambled for something to say, for anything that might keep that steel from pressing any closer. She considered attacking with fire, but that would mean having less magic with which to heal Azuran.

“We just needed shelter from the ash storm,” she said. “Please let my friend and I stay for just a little while. I promise we’ll move on as soon as it is over.”

“Give Mirra one reason why she should not alert the others.”

“Because,” Vaynatah said, keeping her voice even, “if you told them about us, then you would have to share all the gold in my purse.”

Azuran shifted. 

“I told you,” he groaned, “not to put it all… in one place.”

Vaynatah almost smiled at the ruse. 

“This is no time for ‘I told you so’s,’” she said. She chanced to look back toward the Kahjiit. “Do we have a bargain?”

A pause stretched between them, bringing the tension almost to the breaking point.

“A sound arrangement,” she purred. “Perhaps you give Mirra this gold, and perhaps she makes sure no one else finds you.”

“Left pocket.”

The Kahjiit reached into her pocket and withdrew one of the many coin purses she had distributed amongst her things. She could not help but wince at the jingle of coins; now it would take even longer to buy Fimb’s freedom. 

“Let it never be said that Mirra is without compassion,” she said, striding toward the door. “You will be safe until the storm passes.”

“Thank you.”

A ray of dim light broke through the door, then disappeared with the Kahjiit. All that remained was the otherworldly glow of the pylons. Her head felt faint; at first she assumed it was from the dangerous encounter, but then she remembered how much energy she had expended. She broke off the flow of magic.

Azuran shuddered. He pressed her hand to his chest, his grip weak. For a time he lay there, eyes closed, as if the act of filling his lungs took all his concentration. Vaynatah hummed a song that Fimb had taught her. She could not think of anything else to do.

Azuran tried to speak, but coughed instead. He gathered himself for another try. 

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed. 

“Sorry?” she said, almost giddy with exhaustion. “Whatever for?”

“For not… protecting us…” he coughed again.

“No, no. I should be the one apologizing.”

He managed a deep breath.

“For what?”

“I don’t know. For being a nuisance. For pushing you too far. For my ignorance in general.”

“I could have been kinder to you, though,” his voice grew stronger. “I forget that this life is new to you. Of course you would want to talk.”

“But if I had realized why you didn’t want to… well, I wouldn’t have been calling you an n’wah under my breath.”

He shifted to where he could catch her eye. 

“Let’s make a deal then,” he said. “If you’ll be more patient with me, I’ll be more honest with you.” He looked away. “I’m not used to having a friend with me.”

“And I’m not used to being alone,” she said. “Are we really friends now?”

He smiled softly, the blood still glimmering on his lip. 

“If you would be so inclined,” he said. 

They laughed at that; they laughed until Azuran began to cough again. She pulled him closer to her, all her mirth gone in an instant, and gave him another share of her magic. 

He took a shuddering breath. 

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he muttered, still pausing often to breathe. “After you’ve spent the last two days admiring my scars and thinking well of me—if I may flatter myself. But now you know the truth.” 

“The truth?”

“That I am weak.”

She brushed a lock of hair back from his brow. His skin felt clammy with a broken fever.

“How long have you suffered like this?” she murmured. 

“All my life.”

“B’Vehk. That’s horrible.”

“Vivec has nothing to do with me,” he said, his voice tinged with bitterness. “What good is a god-king if he cannot so much as stop these damned storms? If I had even an ounce of his ill-begotten power, I would—”

A fit of coughs seized him. 

“Azuran…”

She brought her hand to his side and used her magic to bring the fit under control.

“… I would still be a fool, apparently,” he said. 

“Is this why your mother would never let you leave the house?”

He nodded. 

“The irony is that the ash makes it worse. If she had only sent me away sooner, I could have—I don’t know, I could have gone places—had a childhood—I could have lived—”

Another fit of coughs. 

“How do you live with this?” she said. “Being on your own and all.”

“This doesn’t happen very often in other places. If I catch it early, I can treat it before things get out of hand.”

Vaynatah nodded. 

“I suppose getting overtaken by an ash storm would be the very definition of ‘out of hand,’” she said thoughtfully. “What do you do when that happens?”

“Find a place to hide, take a double dose of tonic, and try to sleep it off. Oh, and pray that Azura waits a little while longer to claim my soul.”

Vaynatah did not know what to say. She liked to think that she was a cheerful enough person, but when faced with such a morbid topic, she had little to talk about. 

“Try to get some rest,” she murmured. “I’ll keep watch.”

“Thank you.”

With some effort, he turned on his side and nestled down as comfortably as he could. Vaynatah knew that the storm could not last much longer. She hoped that the Kahjiit would not return until well after it had passed. 

Azuran was soon asleep. She watched the gentle movement of his chest and noted that his face had some color again. Poor fellow, she thought. It seemed that she had been wrong about him at every turn. Even assuming that he was healthy had been wrong; she wondered what else she had been mistaken about. 

He began to stir; he shivered and curled up tighter. Vaynatah draped the discarded cowl over his shoulders. Yet the trembling only grew worse; she put a hand to his cheek and found his skin to be cold—colder than any Dunmer should be. The feeling made her heart skip a beat. Before another moment could slip by, she lay down behind him and wrapped her arm around his middle, pressing her body flush against his. She drew upon what tiny spark remained of her magic, though it made her dizzy to do so, and called forth the fire in her blood. She could only manage a small effort. It was just enough for her purposes; rather than gathering fire to her palms, she let the heat disperse throughout her limbs, warming herself and Azuran. 

Several minutes passed before his shivering subsided. He murmured something in his sleep. The words started quietly, then grew to an urgent, incomprehensible pleading. Vaynatah sat up and looked to his face. Sweat dripped down his brow, and his expression was twisted into a look of abject fear. 

Vaynatah wondered if nightmares were a symptom of his affliction. It did not matter; whatever the cause, she resolved not to let him suffer. She gently shook him until his eyes opened. Even then, he did not seem fully aware; his gaze darted about the room. She placed a hand over his. 

“You’re alright,” she said. “You’re safe. I’m with you.”

He seized her wrist and clutched her with painful force. 

“It was the candles,” he said, his voice thin and frenzied. 

“Candles? What are you talking about?”

“It was… they…” he glanced around the room again. His look showed a bit more clarity than before, though it was still distant and troubled. 

“It was just a nightmare,” she soothed. 

He loosened his grip and caught her eye. 

“Run away with me,” he said. 

“What?”

“Come with me. We will find new lands. Our people will prosper, and…” he trailed away, his voice on the verge of breaking. 

Vaynatah did not know what to make of it. He was still dreaming, that much was clear; even so, the proposition tempted her. What would happen if she said yes? Having steady work, not to mention someone like him to watch her back, would be better than trying to make it on her own. She looked at him, at the wild expression in his eyes, and her heart sank. It was the nightmare talking. Nothing more. 

She wiped the sweat from his brow with the edge of her sleeve. 

“Wake up, Azuran,” she muttered, “wake up. Come back.”

He released her, his look growing distant once more. He closed his eyes, mumbled something she could not understand, and drifted off. 

Vaynatah let out a sigh. She wished he had been lucid when he asked her. If anyone needed a guide, it was her; if anyone needed a healer, it was certainly him. 

She yawned and leaned on his shoulder. They would make a handsome pair, she thought. In an unlikely way. Though, perhaps not as unlikely as they could be; they had enough in common, like controlling parents and a longing to get away from everything familiar. Maybe Vaynatah would even have an impressive scar before it was all over. She just hoped it was a nice-looking one, like the one along his jaw. She chanced to trace her finger along its length. There was something entrancing about his sleeping form; a peace that lay hidden when he was awake. No, when he was awake, all she could see was the grumpiness. And how he blushed when she flirted with him. And how he listened—actually listened—when she spoke. And the way he sometimes would look at her from the corner of his eye, as if he feared looking her full in the face. 

She settled down closer to him and rested her hand on his chest. If she searched beyond the now steady swell and fall, she could feel his heart beating beneath her fingertips. She let her eyes fall closed. The rhythm was better than any lullaby. 


	6. A Secret Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaynatah and Azuran make a life-changing discovery in the Dwemer ruin of Aleft.

She awoke with a jolt; something had tapped her on the head. A pair of clawed feet met her view. She scrambled to sit up, cursing her own lack of discipline. Mirra stood before them, arms crossed, daggers sheathed. Vaynatah struggled for something to say, for anything that could buy her more of the Kahjiit’s mercy. 

“The storm has passed,” Mirra said. “This one would move along. Unless you want to meet the others.”

“No, I would prefer not.”

“A wise choice.”

Before rising to her feet, Vaynatah checked over Azuran; his breathing had grown as strong as ever. 

“Thank the ancestors,” she muttered to herself. 

“This sickly one,” Mirra said, nudging him with one strangely jointed leg. “Is he your mate?”

“Um—no,” she said. “But he is my friend. A new friend, to be fair, but I think a good one.”

“Mmm. That is good to have. If Mirra has more of those, she would not be keeping such company.”

“Can’t you… can’t you leave?”

“It would have been impossible before. But with this,” she patted her leg, where Vaynatah’s money jingled in her pocket, “I might make a fresh start.”

“I wish you the best of luck.”

Mirra gave a grateful nod. 

“Go now,” she said. “Before the others find you.”

Vaynatah woke Azuran, and both women helped him to his feet. His movements were sluggish, but sure. With a final glance back at the Kahjiit, Vaynatah made her goodbyes and led him out the door. 

“How long was I out?” Azuran said as they descended the stairs. 

She flushed with embarrassment. 

“I’m not sure. I may have dozed a little bit myself.”

“Huh, some guard you are,” he chided. 

“Listen, healing internal injuries is a lot harder than mending cuts and scrapes. It took a lot out of me.”

He looked away for a moment.

“Right. Thanks for that, by the way,” he said. 

She shrugged. 

“It’s why you hired me. Just trying to earn my keep. Lucky for us that our Kahjiiti friend was in a benevolent mood.”

“For an outlaw, she seemed very understanding,” 

“I get the feeling that she was not an outlaw by choice.”

He nodded solemnly. 

“Funny how many different ways a person can be trapped,” he said. 

They continued on north up the Bitter Coast, weaving between the stagnant pools and patches of reeds. Vaynatah often wetted her shoes in the mire, but Azuran navigated the marsh with skill and ease. She watched him with jealousy. 

“Where did you learn all this?” she said. 

“Learn what?”

“How to get by so well in the wilds. How to not fill your shoes with water like an idiot.” Even as she spoke, her foot slipped off the edge of the path and splashed in the pool. She would have fallen all the way in had Azuran not caught her. He kept his arm through hers and guided her away from the slick spots. 

“Oh, you don’t have to—I mean, don’t strain yourself on my part,” she said, painfully aware of how close he was. Holding him for warmth was one thing; his decision to be near her while conscious and aware was another. 

“It’s alright,” he said. “I’m feeling much better. Good as new, even.”

“I wish I could say the same,” she grumbled. 

He plucked something from a bush as they passed by, then handed her a sprig of berries. She took it and looked over the tiny red fruits. 

“What is that for?” she said. 

“For making you feel better,” he explained. “Comberries have always helped me when I’ve exhausted myself on magic.”

“That’s what I get for avoiding alchemy. Honestly, where did you learn all this?”

“On the job, mostly. I gleaned what I could from books when I was young, but most of the family library regarded history and battle tactics. So far I’ve found experience to be the better teacher.”

“Mmh. That’s one teacher I never had,” she said, popping one of the berries into her mouth. “My father tried to teach me about running an estate, but I always found that sort of work loathsome. When he figured out that I didn’t care for it, he assumed that I would be just as stubborn with teachings of any kind, so he left my education up to my own discretion.”

“At least you had some freedom in the matter.”

“Perhaps. It wasn’t the type of freedom that felt good, though. I think he gave up on me.”

He glanced at her sidelong, then away. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. 

“It could be worse. Was your mother the same way?”

He laughed.

“Just the opposite, actually. Every moment of my life ran on a schedule. Every hour was reserved for study, whether I liked it or not.”

“Didn’t you ever have time to yourself?”

“Of course I was allotted a break for meals, but my mother would talk to me of almost nothing but my reading. ‘You’re too ill to go outside, my darling,’ she would say. ‘You may as well stay busy.’ I never lived outside those books—I never lived at all. It took years before I could tolerate the smell of paper without feeling sick to my stomach.”

“But you still read sometimes, don’t you?”

“I want to,” he said, a sorrowful look spreading across his features. “I wish I could enjoy it. I love a good story—who doesn’t—but I just can’t focus on letters anymore.”

Vaynatah patted his arm. 

“Well, if we find a good book in that Dwemer ruin, I’ll read it aloud to you.”

His melancholy expression lightened. 

“Would you?” he said. 

“I may be so inclined,” she said with a grin. 

They passed a few hours in conversation, making their way toward Aleft at a pace that could be called nothing less than a stroll. Vaynatah felt like the ladies in novels, walking along with a gentleman caller. She could almost ignore the fact that they were in the middle of a swamp and filthy from traveling. They arrived at a place where the sea jutted in, and across the water lay a strip of land with an odd silhouette. 

“Is that it?” she said. 

Azuran squinted. 

“Where?”

“There,” she pointed. 

“Ah. I believe so. Finally,” he said, the relief evident in his voice. 

Vaynatah stared up at the distant towers; they barely peaked above the tree line. At least it was one of the smaller ruins. She recalled the illustrations of Dwemer constructs in her books, but none of them showed exactly how big they were. She tried not to shudder with Azuran so close. He knew what he was doing; she hoped so, at any rate. At that moment, she realized that she had never actually seen him in a fight. A chill ran through her. Going into a dangerous ruin with a man she had only known for two days and trusting him to protect her—to not betray her—it might have been the stupidest thing she had ever done. But if he did honor his word, she might be able to free Fimb by the end of the week. She took a deep breath and followed him off the main road, down the rugged path to Aleft. 

The building sat in a low place surrounded by water; they had to cross a plank bridge to reach it, and even then, the door lay on the opposite side. It was so close to the water that Vaynatah nearly wetted her shoes again. They approached the circular door, only to find it crossed with locked bars. 

“Quick question. How do we get past these?” she said. 

He stood before the door, taking steps forward and back through the water, right and left, pausing between each. 

“Sometimes you have to stand in just the right spot…” he said. 

He tried a few more places, then let out a grumbling sigh. He stepped closer, checking that he was out of the water, and held a hand over the bars.

“Sometimes there’s a spell,” he added. 

Vaynatah watched over his shoulder with interest. He glanced nervously at her. 

“I must admit, I’ve never been particularly good at this,” he said. “And I’m still not feeling my best, mind you.”

“I won’t judge.”

“Right then.”

After a moment’s silence, she heard a faint chorus of pops and crackles. Dozens of tiny tendrils of electricity jumped from his fingers to the metal. 

“And here I thought you used scrolls for that,” she said, but he did not seem to hear the joke. 

He let his hand drift across the surface, his eyes half-closed in concentration, as if feeling out a weakness in the lock. One minute became two; he raised his other hand and continued the search with both. 

Vaynatah looked all over the doorpost for any clues, but found only ancient Dwemeri runes, which she could not read. Even if the markings had been in a language she understood, she doubted that she could have done much with the information. She wandered over to a cluster of crumbling stonework and leaned against it. To her surprise, the stone felt hot to the touch. She looked behind it and found a bronze pipe as big around as her neck, with a red turn-valve and thin jets of steam hissing from the junction. The whole thing was ornately decorated, beautiful in spite of its age. She tested the wheel out of curiosity. It did not budge. Strangely, it and the apparatus around it was cold. She looked to Azuran; he was still enthralled in his own endeavors. She almost laughed at herself. It wasn’t like she needed anyone’s permission to test an idea. 

She placed her hand on the center of the wheel and called on her magic, sending its heat deep into the metal. Soon the wheel felt as hot as the rest. She gave it a turn. It moved, but only just. She threw all her strength into the effort; this time it turned all the way. 

Steam hissed. Metal ground against metal. From the corner of her eye, Vaynatah saw Azuran stumble backward and fall into the shallows. 

“What in Oblivion—” he exclaimed. 

One by one, the bars slid along one another, convening in the middle. A rumble echoed from within, then fell silent. 

She stood frozen in shock, too surprised by the result to delight in her correct guess. Then she remembered Azuran. She splashed in to help him up, but he had already gotten back to his feet. He stared at the door in confusion. 

“Well,” he said. “Perhaps I’m better at this than I remember.”

Vaynatah raised an eyebrow at him. Without a word, she returned to the wheel and closed the valve. The bars slammed back into place. Azuran almost recoiled into the water again. He looked at her in shock. 

“Not to steal your fire.” She shrugged. 

“Ah. Credit where credit is due, I suppose. If you keep being this clever, I might have to bring you along on my next job as well.”

Vaynatah struggled to keep her expression neutral. She had been sure that his first invitation had been the product of his feverish state; now she second-guessed herself. Did he remember making the proposition? Did he mean it?

She ignored the questions and followed him inside the ruin. 

Vaynatah expected pure darkness; when she found the ancient halls illuminated with a subtle amber light, she was too relieved to be surprised. Then the door slammed shut behind them with a clang that echoed through the empty space. All her relief vanished. She followed close behind Azuran. 

Even when the sound of the crash faded, the place was far from silent. A churning and a rumbling sounded from the shadows, accented by the occasional groan and creak. Every noise made her jump. In the pulsing light, she could discern a great machine at the far end of the room, with a large flywheel turning at one side. 

Azuran sauntered over to it, humming to himself, and looked it over. Then he turned his attention to a set of shelves stacked with dusty spare parts. Even in the austere ruin, he conducted himself with an ease that Vaynatah could not feel. She could not rid herself of the notion that she was doing something wrong, that any decision she might make would be a wrong one. He began gathering some of the pieces and stuffing them into a cloth sack. She took a closer look at the machine, hoping that a distraction would calm her nerves. 

“How in the world are these things still functional?” she wondered. 

“The Dwemer built things to last, I suppose.”

“Hmm.”

She chanced to peek down the next corridor. A red light filled the space, radiating up from a grate in the floor. Two large spheres stood on either side of another staircase. 

Her foreboding ebbed away in the face of curiosity. She sidled a little closer to the stairs. 

“How bad of an idea would it be for me to take a look up there?” she said. 

Azuran glanced up from his work. 

“As long as you watch out for traps… and constructs. And ghosts—actually, I think I’ll come up with you.”

He slung the bag over his shoulder. As they approached the stairs, he pointed out the two spheres and warned her to be careful and quiet as they passed. 

“Why is that?” she asked. 

“We don’t want to wake them up.”

Vaynatah laughed. 

“These aren’t constructs, surely,” she said.

She had heard of Dwemer Spheres, who still guarded their masters’ halls—she had even seen pictures in books—but judging by the look of them, she reasoned that these ones were missing the more dangerous half. 

“Keep your voice down,” he hissed. “The front door already made enough noise to wake the dead.”

“Alright, alright.”

Azuran started up the stairs; Vaynatah padded after him, careful that her still-wet shoes did not squeak. Just as he reached the top, he froze in his tracks. He held up a hand for silence, and pointed with the other. A tapping met her ears. In the distance, just visible in the yellow light, a spider-like construct picked its way along the wall. It turned a corner and crept their way. Vaynatah grasped his arm. He laid a hand over hers and gestured for her to stay calm. The spider continued at a measured pace, seemingly unaware of them. In time it passed them by and disappeared from sight. Quick as a cliff racer, he reached around the corner and seized one of its retreating legs. There came a scraping sound and the sharp crackle of electricity, followed by a thump. A metallic scent filled the air. 

“Ha!” Azuran said. “That will fetch a good price. It’s rare to find one in such good shape.” 

He opened the bag and stuffed the spider inside. 

“Are there any more up there?” Vaynatah said. 

He mounted the last step and looked around. 

“No, it’s safe,” he said. “Come on up.”

She did so. The room was square in shape, with a basin in the center surrounded by four pillars. She glanced up and found an opening to the floor above, where a large faucet stretched out over the gap. Machinery groaned above. 

“This place is so strange,” she said, almost to herself. 

“I like it,” Azuran said. “Ruins like these have always felt… I don’t know. Familiar somehow.”

“I have a hard time believing your childhood home resembled this at all,” she scoffed. 

“I already told you, I don’t know why it does. It just does.” His look grew thoughtful. “I keep expecting to run into an old friend.”

“Well. I’m here.”

“And who said you’re my friend?”

“You did, n’wah!”

She gave him a playful shove. He smiled and shoved back, sending her stumbling. 

“Well! That’s some way to treat your healer,” she said with mock offense. 

He shrugged his shoulders, flashed a smirk, and flexed his arm.

“You must have done a good job healing me, then,” he said. “I don’t know my own strength.”

He started for the stairs that led to the top level. She stifled a laugh and followed after him. 

They found the upper floor to be even more sparse than the lower, save for a large pump system against the left wall. Vaynatah leaned against one of the pillars while Azuran searched the few barrels and chests that sat clustered in the corner, still humming to himself. He drew out a small device whose purpose she could not divine, turned it this way and that, then put it in the bag with an approving nod. 

She tried to imagine what the inventor might have looked like. Perhaps it was an old man, building a puzzle for his grandchildren; maybe a woman making a gift for her betrothed. Vaynatah let her eyes fall half-closed and pictured how the place might have looked thousands of years ago, when the lights were brighter and the halls buzzed with activity, when every man and woman might have had a companion like the disheveled construct that lay at the far end of the room. 

A spider lay in a heap beside the machine. She nudged it absentmindedly, pushing it until it turned over, its legs splayed out. When it was curled up, it almost looked like a real spider; now it looked like nothing more than a jumble of metal. She knelt down beside it and fiddled with the legs. Almost without thinking, she flicked it with a spark. Lightning was far from her specialty, but she enjoyed playing with it here and there. The leg twitched. She flicked it again, with a bit more power this time. All the legs jerked, and its claws clenched. Her better sense told her to leave it alone, but her curiosity demanded satiation. She stretched out her hand and jolted the spider. 

The construct squealed to life. It flipped right-side-up, joints creaking, and staggered to its feet. Vaynatah sucked in a breath. 

“What is it?” Azuran said, looking up from his search. 

Before she could respond, the spider snipped at her ankles with its claws. She yelped in surprise and jumped back. The construct skittered away, bolting for the stairs. 

“Catch it! Catch it quick!” she said. 

Azuran gave her a confused look. The spider dashed past him. Realization dawned on him, and he lunged at it, missing by mere inches. They scrambled after it down the stairs. It skidded to a stop beside one of the spheres, extended a claw, and began tapping the metal. Azuran swore.

Vaynatah leapt down and kicked it away. It tumbled into the middle of the room, flailing its legs to right itself. Before it could succeed, Azuran threw himself upon it. The air crackled with lightning magic. The spider grew still. 

Vaynatah rushed to his side. 

“Are you alright?” she said. 

“Ah—just a scrape, I think,” he said. 

He sat up and inspected the side of his hand, which had been worn raw by the rough floor. She took his hand in hers, her palms already cool with healing magic. His fingers curled around hers. The contact, little and inconsequential as it was, made her heart skip a beat. She kept her eyes trained on her work. 

“Sorry about that, by the way,” she said. “I didn’t realize that lightning could wake these things up, too.”

“It’s a common mistake. Don’t feel bad about it.”

“I was just—”

A metallic groan cut her off. A second groan joined the first. There came a hissing and a clanking, and she watched in horror as the two spheres rocked themselves out of their indentations on the floor. With a hiss of steam, they split down the middle. They spread apart. Human-like torsos lifted themselves above, looking around as the lower halves rejoined. Each construct grasped a sword. Their glass eyes turned on her and Azuran. The sight made her blood run cold. 

Azuran leapt to his feet and drew his sword. Sparks popped from his fingertips of his free hand. 

“Get behind me,” he said. 

She did so. The spheres approached, metal grinding against the aged floor. He stretched out a hand beside him. He took a deep breath. Crackling sounds echoed through the room. Flashes of light all but blinded her. A shifting blue form materialized in his hand, long and thin, with one end curling on the floor. He raised the weapon, wielded the lightning like a whip, and struck the nearest construct. It faltered in its advance. Then it came at him faster, slashing at him with its sword. He parried with his own, striking again and again with the whip. Vaynatah had to step back to avoid being caught up in the scuffle. 

The second construct gave them a wide berth, circling around the fight. Panic rose up in her gut. She sent a fireburst hurtling toward it. The blast exploded on its bronze face, but it still advanced, unaffected. 

“Don’t waste your effort,” Azuran called over his shoulder. “Fire won’t do any good.”

The first construct made a lunge, forcing him to leap back. Before it could regain its stance, he whipped the lightning around its arm and yanked, upsetting its balance. It just touched the other construct; a loud crack and a shower of sparks erupted from the contact. The second construct flinched away. Then it raised its sword, not at her, but at Azuran. 

She did not have to think twice. She barely had to think at all; almost by instinct, she backed away from the fight and struck the sphere with a weak, continuous stream of fire. It relented the attack on Azuran. Just as she hoped, it sped toward her. She held her ground. Then, at the last moment, she jumped to the side. The construct rammed into the wall with a force that shook the room. 

She ran to the other end of the room, turning just in time to see the sphere regain its balance. It sped toward her again with the sound of a boulder rolling down a mountain. She blinded it and dodged—only just in time. Again and again they performed the dance. 

She wondered how long she could keep up the game of chase. 

Azuran cried out. She looked to him; he lay on the floor, scrambling to avoid the construct’s sword as it struck against the stone. One strike plunged the blade deep between two pavers. The sphere tried to pull the sword loose, but failed; metal ground against metal as it jerked its arm. Azuran sent the tendril of lightning hissing through the air. It wrapped around the construct’s neck and held fast. He furrowed his brow in concentration. The cracking and popping grew to an ear-splitting volume. Branches of lightning snaked out from the whip. The construct vibrated with such force that she wondered how it did not fall apart. Then an idea struck her. 

She stood close to the construct, positioning herself between it and the other one. The far sphere faced her, aligning itself for another attack. She held her breath. The hairs on her neck stood on end. The sphere charged. 

She waited a breath longer before springing out of the way. There came a flash of light and an explosion of sound, and a blow that knocked her to her hands and knees. A spray of sparks danced across her vision. Then a creak, and the floor shook. All grew still, quiet except for the machine in the corner. 

She dared to look up. Both constructs lay motionless on the ground—as did Azuran. A wave of dread overcame her. She ran to him, falling to her knees at his side, and shook him by the shoulders. 

“Azuran? Are you alright?” Panic almost choked out her voice. 

He did not open his eyes, but he did let out a groan. 

“Yes, I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said. “But if it’s all the same to you, I might just lie here for a moment.” 

She could not help but laugh, as relieved as she was that he was alive. 

“Take all the time you need,” she said. “I’m in no rush.”

However fine he claimed to be, she resolved to bolster his strength at least a little. She drew on her magic and reached out to his shoulder, seeking out a place where his armor did not cover and his clothes had few layers. In her experience, healing magic worked best skin to skin, but she would make do. She placed her hand just above his collar. For an instant, her finger brushed his bare neck. He felt searing hot compared to the cool of the magic. Her own cheeks flushed at the contact. She drew her hand away, then got up and inspected the constructs. 

“So, how did you make that whip thing? I’ve never seen that spell before,” she said. 

“I get the feeling that there are a lot of things you haven’t seen before.”

“No need to be rude.”

“You’re right, sorry. It’s a combination of destruction and conjuration.”

“Clever.”

Something on the far wall caught her attention; a crevice running along the seams of the stonework where the sphere had crashed into it. It had not been there before. One of the stones was loose. She lifted it out and tossed it aside. Cold air wafted from the gap. There was something on the other side—rather, there was nothing. 

She heard the scrape of dirt under boot heels as Azuran dragged himself to his feet. He stepped up behind her. 

“What is it?” he said. 

“I don’t know. A hidden room, I think.”

She worked another stone free and let it fall. Then she held a flame on the tips of her fingers and eased her hand into the empty space, reaching in all the way to her elbow. 

“What do you see?”

The flickering light danced about the room. At first she thought she saw dozens of eyes staring back at her, but then the sight resolved itself, and she at last understood the scattered glow. 

She sucked in a breath. 

“Wonderful things.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you were wondering, "Is this chapter in any way inspired by the discovery of King Tutankhamun's tomb?" then you would be correct!


	7. A Discovery, A Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Treasure is not the only thing Vaynatah finds in the ruins.

Vaynatah and Azuran took care when removing the stones from the wall. Within a quarter of an hour, they had cleared a hole just large enough to step through. Vaynatah went first with the fire. Azuran followed, feeling along the wall until he found a lever; soon the ancient lights filled the space with an amber glow. 

Metal gleamed all around them. Shelves lined the small room, each stacked with small, inert constructs, decorated pottery, dishes, chests, jewelry, and even books. Furniture cluttered the middle, stacked almost to the ceiling. Vaynatah clasped a hand to her mouth and looked to Azuran; he stared at the objects, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. He touched the various trinkets gently, almost reverently. His hand lingered over an ornate box; inside was a necklace with a large, pale blue gem. A phosphorescent glow emanated from the jewel. He picked it up and held it close to examine it.

“Do you know what this means?” he said, not taking his eyes off the necklace.

She hesitated to say it. 

“It means you’ll be able to leave Morrowind.”

Hope filled his expression nearly to the point of tears. 

“No more traipsing around this blighted place,” he said, a smile spreading across his features. “Goodbye ash storms.”

“Goodbye kagouti attacks,” she laughed. 

“And goodbye Vvardenfell!” he said, laughing with her. “I could—I could take a ship tomorrow if I wanted.”

“You could  _ buy _ a ship if you wanted.”

“No, no, I don’t want a ship. I don’t want anything that valuable.” He stepped close and clasped the jewel around her neck. “I just want to go where I please. When I please.”

“And answer to no one!”

“Yes, exactly.” He took both of her hands in his. “And your friend is as good as free.”

Now her vision blurred with tears. Pure, unhindered joy bubbled up within her, the likes of which she had not felt for years. Before she could stop herself, she threw her arms around his neck. He hesitated, but only for a moment. He picked her up and spun her around the cramped space, only just avoiding hitting the furniture. Vaynatah could not stop laughing, even when tears streaked down her cheeks. At last he set her down. Yet she felt as though she could fly—if she knew the spell for levitation, she certainly would have done so. 

Azuran still held her close. Nothing could bring her down in that moment, she was sure, but there was one thing that could make it better. She pulled away just far enough to see his lips. She put a hand to the side of his face. The closeness, the heat, how his hands slipped down to her waist, how his jaw fit perfectly in her palm—it all sent shivers up her spine.

He leaned in closer. Her heart pounded. She ran her thumb over his scar and let her eyes fall closed. 

But nothing happened. 

She opened her eyes and found him lingering within reach, his lips just inches away from hers. 

“Azuran…?”

“Yes?” he said, his voice quiet. 

“Why don’t you kiss me?”

He hesitated. 

“Are you sure you want me to—?”

“Yes.”

She stood on her toes and pulled him down to her. He inhaled sharply, his form rigid—then, in the span of a breath, he melted into her embrace, conforming to her every curve. She clutched at his cowl. He laced his fingers through her hair, holding her to him. 

Then the flame of the moment guttered out, and he drew away, breathless. 

“Was that too much?” she said, struggling to catch her own breath. 

“It was just enough,” he sighed. 

“No, I mean—”

He brushed her lips again. 

“I mean, are you well—?”

He interrupted her with another kiss. 

“—I don’t want to aggravate your condition,” she managed. 

He gave a little smile. 

“I’m well enough for this,” he said. 

“Good.”

She pushed him against the shelf, trapping him between her arms, and kissed him again. He gave in without hesitation. 

Something struck the floor beside them; both jumped at the sound. Azuran’s hand flew to his sword hilt. Vaynatah’s fingers already smoldered with magic. She looked down to find a fist-sized ball that had fallen from one of the shelves. It hardly seemed worth the distraction; she steadied herself and returned to the task at hand. 

She took a step closer, only to bring her foot down on the ball. She slipped; Azuran caught her before she could fall. As much as she enjoyed being in his arms, the reason for it gnawed at her patience. She picked up the ball, intent on either replacing it on the shelf or throwing it across the room; she had not decided which. Something about the item caught her eye. The segmented metal shell looked like it could be opened, and that piqued her curiosity. 

She turned it this way and that. 

“What do you suppose this is?” she said. 

Azuran took it and looked it over. 

“I can’t say. I’ve never seen one before.”

He tried to slide the segments open; when that failed, he attempted to pry them apart. Vaynatah remembered the valve wheel at the front door. 

“Let me try something,” she said, taking the ball back. 

She held it in her palm and imbued it with a gentle heat. A little warmth may be just the thing to loosen the ancient hinges, she reasoned. Several moments passed where nothing happened.

Then there came a snap—then a ticking—then a quiet hiss. The ball lurched in her hand. She caught it just before it toppled off. Then, to her astonishment, the segments unfurled, changing into a little metal insect similar to a scrib. It looked at her with tiny glass eyes. She stared back, speechless. It poked at her hand with its short feelers, then nestled down into her palm. Its many legs grasped her so tightly that she could have turned it upside down without dropping it. 

“What in the world is it doing?” Azuran asked. 

“You tell me,” she said. “You’re the Dwemer expert.”

He reached out to touch it. It spat a tiny burst of steam at him. He jerked his hand away, waving it in pain. 

“Whatever it is, I think it likes you best.”

“Well, I think it just likes the heat.”

She willed her palm to a level of heat that would easily burn flesh; the insect burrowed deeper. 

“Shall we take it with us?” he said. “A trinket like that will catch a good amount.”

“I’m not sure I have a choice,” she said. 

They exchanged a glance; their amorous pursuits would have to wait until the insect decided to let Azuran near. With an air of defeat, they returned to their real work. 

They gathered a variety of small items that could fit in their bags and knapsacks without weighing them down. Azuran opted to leave the bag of spare parts and inert spiders in favor of the more delicate items, all the while going on about how rare it was to find an untouched room in a ruin, and how pleased his employers would be. Vaynatah had never heard him talk so much without a pause. 

Evening fell just as they reached Gnaar Mok. By that time, the insect had left its perch on Vaynatah’s hand and taken up a new one on her shoulder. It took an hour of walking before it would let Azuran near her. 

She traced her fingers over the unnaturally cool gem he had placed around her neck. It hummed with strange energy, but she could not define it. It was magic, of that she was sure, but she could sense neither enchantment nor curse. When she attempted to explore its magic, she was immediately struck with the feeling that she had plunged her head into a bowl of water only to discover an ocean. She withdrew her consciousness out of pure reflex. When she asked Azuran if he was sure he did not want to keep that part of the loot for himself, he merely shrugged and said,

“I promised you could keep whatever shiny things we find. I won’t go back on our deal.”

She nodded and tucked the gem into her cowl. 

Gnaar Mok was a small fishing village, which is why Azuran was especially surprised to find a silt strider standing in the water by the dock. The driver was arguing with a man who appeared to be an alchemist, judging from the many pockets on his robes. 

“I’m telling you, I need this shipment loaded immediately,” the driver said. 

“You can’t possibly be planning to make the crossing tonight,” the alchemist replied. 

“I can possibly,” he said. “My client wants it by tomorrow and he's willing to pay out the nose for it. Crazy old wizard, you know the type.”

“He sounds a bit impatient.”

“You have no idea.”

Vaynatah did have an idea; the very thought made her heart race with anticipation. She approached the driver. 

“Excuse me,” she said. “Did I hear that you’re delivering to a wizard?”

He glanced at her sidelong. 

“That’s right.”

“Do you think he would know much about Dwemer artifacts?”

He eyed the insect. 

“A Telvanni wouldn’t be worth his salt if he didn’t, I suppose.”

“Do you take passengers?”

Azuran cut in. 

“Excuse us a moment, sera,” he said. 

He pulled her aside. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed. 

“Finding us an appraiser,” she said. 

“Why don’t you announced to everyone that we’re carrying valuables? It would be a faster way to get us killed. Well, robbed at least.”

“Did you have a better idea?

“To get the items appraised by an expert in Vivec City. Who I have worked with before. And who I trust.”

“That’ll take us days to get there. If we go with him, we’ll be there tomorrow.”

“If this wizard is Telvanni, he probably lives on the opposite side of the island.”

“Who cares? We have a silt strider.”

“You just want to go because you’ve never ridden one before.”

“True. But that doesn’t make my idea a bad one.”

He passed his hand over his eyes. 

“I don’t know,” he groaned. 

“Come on, you’re an adventurer, aren’t you?” She ran a finger up the back of his neck and lowered her voice to a deep, sultry tone. “Don’t make me beg.”

His shoulders tensed. Vaynatah did not have to see his face to know that he was blushing. He threw his hands up.

“Fine. Fine, you win,” he said. 

“Of course I do,” she grinned, then turned back to the driver. “How much would you charge to take me and my—my colleague along with you? We would like to meet this wise wizard of yours.”

The driver chuffed a laugh. 

“If you don’t mind a foul-tempered wizard instead, I’ll take you for, say, thirty gold.”

“Done.”

“Apiece.”

“What? Ugh, alright, done.”

“And you’ll help me load the cargo.”

“If you add one more condition, the deal’s off,” Azuran said. Then to Vaynatah he added, “Hasn’t anyone taught you how to bargain?”

“I got the best of you back in Vivec,” she shrugged.

“Hmph.”

When everything was arranged and the driver agreed to taking only half the payment up front, he climbed up a rope ladder to the hollow in the strider’s carapace. He tossed down a net on the end of a long rope; Azuran and Vaynatah loaded the small crates one at a time. When all of them had been lifted into the hollow, the driver motioned for them to climb. Vaynatah raced to be the first one up. The insect curled itself tight over her shoulder. 

When she had made it nearly to the top of the ladder, she made the mistake of looking down. 

There was the dock, far below; beyond that, the water disappeared into shadow. She froze. Even if a cliff racer had been swooping at her, she doubted that she could have moved. The world seemed at a tilt, and if she loosened her grip at all, she would be lost. The breeze made the ladder sway. 

It shook harder; Azuran had begun to climb up after her. She clutched the ropes tighter. 

“Wait, stop,” she squealed. 

The shaking paused. 

“Why?” he said. 

“Stop moving the ladder!”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, just—just stop moving the ladder. I’m coming back down.”

“Are you scared?”

“That’s beside the point.”

“You’re almost to the top. Just take those last few rungs, and you’ll be there.”

“No. Not possible.”

“Here, I’ll come up and help you.”

“No! No, stay where you are. If I fall, I’ll hit you.”

“Alright. Hmm. Maybe you need something to take your mind off the climb.”

The driver leaned over the edge. 

“I’ll cut the rope if you two don’t hurry up,” he said. 

Vaynatah met his look. 

“Please don’t,” she said.

He rolled his eyes. With an impatient sigh, he reached down to her. She took the offer with a trembling hand. He pulled her up so quickly that she barely had time to be afraid. Next thing she knew, she was inside the hollow, sprawled upon the woven rugs that covered the floor. She sat up and looked around; a dizzy spell struck her. She clutched at the floor and scrambled to the back of the hollow where the small crates were stacked and huddled herself against them. 

Azuran appeared over the edge; he let out a chuckle when he saw her. 

“You look like a frightened kwama,” he said.

“I’ve never been this high off the ground before,” she said.

“You didn’t panic crossing the mountain pass.”

“That was solid. This is—this is not.”

“That’s ridiculous. Height is height.”

“No, no, she has a point,” the driver said. “I used to be the same way. Still get off-balance sometimes.”

“Thank you, sera,” Vaynatah said, pointedly. “By the way, what’s your name?”

The three made introductions; the driver called himself Revus Sarvani.

“And this,” he said, patting the strider’s shell, “is Leggy.”

Azuran raised an eyebrow.

“You named this towering beast Leggy?” he said.

“Hasn’t she got the longest legs you’ve ever seen on a woman?”

“Er—I suppose she does.”

“Exactly. Now let’s be off.”

Revus settled himself at the front; a moment later, the strider shifted, jerking with her first few steps, then settled into a quick, comfortable pace. The wind rushed through Vaynatah’s hair. She clutched at the nearest crate. 

“You’ll never get a good view like that,” Azuran said. “Here, move over.”

He made to place himself between her and the cargo, which would put her far too close to the edge.

“Absolutely not!” she said. 

“You wanted a ride on a silt strider, and you’re not going to waste it by hiding where you can’t even see anything. Now move, go on.”

He squeezed himself into her place; she moved less of her own free will and more from him moving her aside. He pushed her up against the wall of the hollow. The insect spat a burst of steam at him, then skittered to a perch on her knee. She grappled to his arm. 

“Stop worrying. You won’t fall,” he said. 

“You don’t know that.”

“The only way you’re falling is if I push you.”

He gave her a nudge. She dug her nails into him. 

“Ouch! Not so tight,” he said. 

“Well, don’t scare me if you don’t want to get clawed.”

“Fine. Here,” he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “You’re completely safe. Nothing to fear. Now enjoy the damn ride.”

She took a deep breath. Just the thought of looking over the edge made her head spin; instead, she opted to look out to the horizon. The slightest hint of purple lingered in the west, but the road ahead was all shadow and starlight and the glow of the twin moons. The strider’s steps were rhythmic and slow. She found herself relaxing a little. She placed a hand on the shell and leaned over just far enough to see the ground below. Azuran gripped her tighter, but did not pull her back. With the ground rushing by in a blur, she wondered if this was how flying felt. 

She wondered if Fimb had ever traveled this way. 

She sat back from the edge. In the excitement of the day, she had almost forgotten the whole reason for this journey. She had to stay on track—but that did not mean that she could not enjoy it, too. She settled closer to Azuran and leaned her head on his shoulder. 

“So, is it what you were hoping for?” he said.

“I think it is.”

“Good.”

“I have a question though.”

“Hmm?”

“Earlier, when you said that I needed something to take my mind off the climb—what were you going to do to distract me? I’m curious.”

“Hmm. I was—well. It’s not important.”

“No, tell me. Please?”

He hesitated. 

“You must understand that spending most of my childhood indoors led to certain hobbies.”

“Like what? What were you going to do?”

“I was…” he covered his eyes. 

“Yes?”

“I was going to sing.”

Vaynatah laughed.

“Why did you sound so embarrassed about that?” she said.

“Search me.”

“Well. Do you know ‘The Ballad of Moon and Star’? The melody is too deep for me, but I can sing the harmony.”

“I might.”

“If you felt so inclined?”

Through the darkness, she could just see him smirking. He cleared his throat and took a breath. A moment passed in silence. Then his voice came forth in a deep rasp, at once so soothing and enticing that it almost made her hesitate to join in. 

_ Through might and mein to fair Resdayn _

_ The four companions traveled; _

_ With swords in hand they took a stand, _

_ Their destinies unraveled. _

_ Their paths were tread, their people led, _

_ Lord Veloth’s folk unnumbered,  _

_ The land they took, their fear forsook, _

_ Their loyalties unsundered. _

_ When Haraldson, called Gifted One _

_ Sought conquest over wisdom _

_ The foes of old faced woes untold _

_ And drove him back to Skyrim. _

She added the harmony in her own voice’s thin, shaky tone, daring to sing a breath louder with each verse. Soon they matched in volume; though quiet, the air resonated with song. 

_ For Nerevar, the Moon-and-Star _

_ Sought peace with Dumac Dwarfking. _

_ A pact was made and Dwemer stayed, _

_ Their former hate forsaking. _

_ But deep within the noisome din _

_ Of industry unending _

_ A deity, false piety _

_ They built of stone unbending. _

_ The Heart to crack, worked Kagrenac,  _

_ With hands and tools appalling  _

_ Made great his sin, thrown with his kin _

_ In darkness, nameless, falling. _

_ In Mountain Red, the king fell dead _

_ By Nerevar, unvanquished. _

_ Cruel twist of luck, the Star was struck; _

_ ’Neath fatal wounds he languished. _

_ So to his side he called his bride, _

_ His friends, the Three allied _

_ For kinship’s pride, they did abide _

_ To tend him as he died. _

_ Where is it now, that noble brow? _

_ Where is the Moon-and-Star? _

_ He shan’t be found, save holy ground, _

_ For fast fell Nerevar.  _

Vaynatah let her voice fade. Revus began to clap. To her surprise, Azuran kept singing. 

_ Thus he decrees: distrust the Three. _

_ The past has been rewritten. _

_ They stole his breath, and with his death, _

_ They gained the pow’r forbidden. _

She looked to him; his eyes seemed distant, dream-like. She waited for him to say more, but he was silent. 

“I’ve never heard that verse before,” she said. 

He shook his head as though emerging from a deep thought.

“Have you not?” he said. “I thought it was common.”

Vaynatah settled a little deeper into his embrace, wondering if she should bring up the heretical nature of the extra verse. She decided against it. He had already made clear his views of the Almsivi, and she saw no point in pushing the issue. 

She glanced up at the stars, which were growing brighter with the night, and saw a shadow pass beneath them. It did not look like a cliff racer; it was smaller, and its wings were curved at the end, not pointed. 

“Look at that, I think there’s a hawk up there,” she said.

Azuran squinted. 

“I don’t see it,” he said. 

Vaynatah narrowed her eyes at him.

“You’re always saying that you can’t see things,” she said. “I don’t understand.”

“I told you, I’m half blind.”

“When did you tell me that?”

“At the Black Shalk, remember? You accused me of being a blind man, I said you’re half right, and then you had a good laugh at the idea.”

“But what does that even mean? You’re either blind or you’re not.”

“It means I can see things fine up close, but when they’re far away, they get… I don’t know. Imprecise. Sort of blurry. Like writing with water splashed on it. Does that make sense?”

“Sort of. So at what point do things get blurry? Can you see me?”

“Of course I can, you’re right there.”

“Well how am I supposed to know?”

“I might have a hard time recognizing you across the room, for example, but things don’t get really out of focus until about… from here to the ground, roughly.”

She thought about the distance; while it was certainly a long way to fall, it was not very far at all to see. The futility of it all struck her to the heart. The whole reason he left Morrowind was to see the world; yet how could he enjoy his travels when every vista would be unclear? She held him closer. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “That must be horrible.”

He shrugged. 

“My eyes went bad when I was very young. It’s all I’ve known for most of my life, so I suppose I’m used to it.”

“But if you can’t see, then what’s the point of traveling?”

“It’s really not that bad. I can still see the colors of a sunset. And the northern lights, they’re wonderful. And I can still meet new people.”

In spite of his assertions, she could sense the sorrow beneath his words. She wished she could help him in some way. But healing cuts and broken bones was one thing; restoring someone’s vision was entirely another. Just keeping him stable through the ash storm had all but overtaxed her. It was strange to think that the whole affair had only occurred that morning. She recalled how delirious he had been; the memory turned her stomach. She lowered her voice where the driver could not hear. 

“On the topic of people, and traveling, and… and such,” she began, struggling to calm her nerves. “You asked something of me while you were ill.”

“Did I?”

“You were raving about things I didn’t understand. I think you had a fever.”

“But what did I ask?”

She swallowed hard. Her heart pounded in her throat; if he truly did not mean it, then… well, she would still have Fimb to travel with. But she could not deny that she wanted him, too. To see the world with her oldest friend and a new flame—it would be better than a dream. She took a deep breath.

“You asked me to run away with you,” she said. 

He fell silent. 

“I just wanted to know if you meant it. And—and you can say no. It won’t hurt my feelings.”

“I thought I had imagined that part,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

He shifted to face her better, but he did not look her in the eye. 

“If I asked again,” he said, his voice unsure, “would you say yes?”

She almost could not breathe. 

“I would,” she whispered. 

He nodded. She reached for the hand that rested on her shoulder. He laced his fingers through hers, holding her tight. She wondered how her heart did not burst right then. Everything seemed so perfect, from the chill night to the swaying of the strider to how warm she felt in Azuran’s embrace. It was already better than a dream. When Fimb was free, it would be nothing short of paradise. She let her eyes fall closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now KISS


	8. Night in Sadrith Mora

The sky was still dark when they arrived in Sadrith Mora. Azuran nudged Vaynatah awake. To her surprise, the insect had moved to his shoulder while they slept. She got to her feet, then paused; she had never seen anything quite like the sight before her: a city grown from living mushroom trees, dotted with spires and pulsing with firelight. A great tower loomed over the rest. Roots and branches intertwined, giving the place a chaotic energy. She had never before been in a place where she could feel the magic, but this one was drenched in it. It struck her as being quintessentially Dunmeri. 

Azuran descended first, and Revus offered a hand to help her over the edge. He then directed them to the nearest place where they could rent a room. 

“I’ll be delivering this immediately, but I don’t see any reason why you two should stay up as well,” he said. “Trust me, you won’t want to see my client until he’s had some of this.”

“What is it, anyway?” Vaynatah asked. 

“Powdered Canis Root. He makes a tea out of it.”

She had no response for that. The type of man who would pay to have a cargo of tea shipped to him overnight was either very eccentric or very exacting—perhaps both. She hoped he would condescend to give them the appraisal, at least. 

After helping unload the cargo and saying their goodbyes to Revus, Vaynatah and Azuran made their way to the city’s front gate. The Gateway Inn stretched across the entrance like a bridge, with two staircases flanking the tunnel. They took the stairs as Revus had directed. 

Vaynatah’s eyes were too heavy with sleep to notice the strange, twisting architecture of the place. She knew she mumbled when she paid the innkeeper for the room. Azuran stifled a yawn as they made their way through the common areas. It may have been wasteful to spend coin on a bed they would only use for a few hours, but she did not care. She was just glad to lay down on something softer than a silt strider. His arms would do, she thought. Perhaps later in the morning, when they were both rested, she would finish what they started in Aleft.

The room was small, but clean and well-arranged. She set her things in the side chair and kicked off her shoes while Azuran settled on the bed. The insect skittered into his discarded bag. He cast off his armor with little regard, peeled off his shirt, then yawned and stretched. 

Vaynatah could not stop herself from glancing at him. She drank in the sight of his lithe form, of the lean work of muscles that cast faint ridges along his middle. 

Her weariness faded, and suddenly the morning seemed eons away. A distant voice in her mind told her to be cautious. She left the voice behind with her tunic. With her back to the bed, she undid the lacing of her undershirt and let it fall to the ground, assured by Azuran’s silence that his eyes followed her every move. 

She crossed the room to the bed and sat down beside him. He did not look at her, but his cheeks had darkened considerably. Her heart pounded. She placed a hand over his. 

“May I ask a favor of you?” she said. Her own voice sounded shaky and thin. 

His hand trembled under hers. 

“Anything,” he murmured. 

She leaned in until her lips brushed his ear. His skin burned beneath her touch. 

“Sing for me again?” she whispered. 

He nodded and took a deep breath. His voice rose in a quiet tune, melancholy and slow, a song that she had never heard before. She leaned in and left a trail of kisses on his neck. He shuddered; she relished every move, how every note resonated beneath her lips. She bit down gently, delighted to hear his voice catch before continuing on. Her head swam, drunk on the sensation of him giving way to her. There was something unspeakably enticing about how he bent to her will, to her word, to her every guiding touch. How a caress could make this man weak, make him whimper. It was power. 

She wanted more. 

His chest rose and fell with the music; her hands traced every line of his tattoos. She eased him onto his back. She was over him now—her heart raced—his hips pressed the inner sides of her thighs. He endeavored to hold her closer, but she drew away and ran her fingers down his middle, lingering at the edge of his trousers. His song ceased. Slowly, she began to untie the laces.


	9. A Turn for the Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaynatah gets one step closer to her goal of freeing her friend. What could go wrong?

Azuran rested, half-asleep, with his head laying on her chest. Vaynatah combed her fingers through his hair. Now and then he hummed snatches of a tune. 

“The sun is probably up by now,” she said.

“Hmmm…” He held her tighter and buried his face in the crook of her neck. 

“It would have been smarter for us to actually get some sleep,” she chuckled. 

“Sleep is for s’wits and n’wahs,” he mumbled. “It can’t have been better than this.”

He held back a cough; she spread her fingers across the taut skin of his back and imbued him with a whisper of healing. She had done so a number of times that morning, though before she had breathed the magic into him. She remembered his initial shock. When he realized what she was doing, why a sudden chill passed between their lips, he had grappled to her, drinking in the magic like a man lost in the desert. Yet there was a tenderness in his desperation; gratitude where others might have taken her attentions for granted. It had made her want him all the more. 

“Do you always seduce the women you travel with, or am I just lucky?” she said. 

“If memory serves correct, you seduced me.”

“I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”

He met her eyes, brows knitted in a shocked expression. 

“First time—?”

She laughed. 

“Relax. You’re not guilty of deflowering a rich and influential plantation-owner’s only daughter. I doubt he would send the Morag Tong after you even if you had.”

“Thank Azura.” He relaxed back into her embrace. “Who is guilty, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“A traveler like you,” she said. “I guess I have a type. He stayed at the plantation for a few very, very good days on his way to Caldera. Of course I begged him for stories, and we talked well after everyone else had gone to bed. One thing led to another.”

“Did it break your heart when he left?”

“No, not really. He was a very interesting person, but not one I could see a future with. It was a lucky thing, too; turns out he was a bandit.”

“He robbed you? What did he take?”

“Nothing that I wasn’t glad to be rid of. And nothing of my father’s went missing; sometimes I wonder how things would have turned out if I hadn’t taken him to bed.”

“What was his name? Perhaps I’ve met him on the road.”

“Nels something, I think.”

“Nels Llendo?”

“Yes, that is it! So you’ve met him?”

“Met him? He robbed me blind just last week. Threatened to kill me if I didn’t hand over fifty gold. Then I ran into him at a tavern later and he acted like we were the best of friends. It was the strangest thing.”

“Sounds to me like he’s only nice to pretty girls.”

“He’s certainly handsome enough to get away with it.”

“Don’t be jealous.”

“I’m not. I pity him; there’s no art to wooing a woman when you’re good-looking. Men like me have to use our brains.”

“When you’re not being seduced by runaway heiresses, you mean?”

“Exactly.”

“So.” She shifted to get more comfortable. “I’ve told you mine. Who was yours?”

He grew quiet for a moment. 

“Her name was Ivya. I met her shortly after running away.”

Something in his voice told her that there was more to the story.

“Were you two… close?” she said. “Aside from the obvious, I mean.”

“We traveled together for a time. We were good friends. I fell in love with her, like the fool that I am.”

“But she didn’t feel the same?”

“No,” he said, his voice bitter. “After a while, she told me that didn’t want someone who would hold her back. But I knew what she meant. She didn’t want someone who was… sick.”

The sorrow in his tone hit Vaynatah like a punch to the stomach. She kissed his brow. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. 

He moved beside her, shifting where he could press her to him.

“I’m just glad that you didn’t run after the first incident,” he said. 

The thought had never even occurred to her. She could not imagine being so cold as to leave someone behind like that. Especially him.

“What kind of healer would I be if I did that?” she said. 

He smiled. 

“One who didn’t get paid.”

They passed another hour—perhaps two—talking and dozing before finally getting out of bed. In the small room, the rumbling of their stomachs made an unbearable racket. They took their time dressing, then made their way into the city to find some late breakfast. 

Everything looked different in the daylight. The curling spires seemed less menacing, and there were more people about. Vaynatah noticed several elevated houses that had no stairs; she wondered what happened when the residents entertained guests who could not levitate. 

They came to a place under a canopy where potion sellers and food vendors and other merchants displayed their wares. Vaynatah bought a nix-hound and mushroom pie, which she greatly enjoyed; Azuran bought something called a “Tel Special,” which turned out to be a large flat mushroom, grilled and topped with smaller sautéed mushrooms, and garnished with strips of roasted mushroom. After the meal, he claimed that it would be at least a week before he could eat another. 

Vaynatah watched the midday light filter through the canopy. The insect had nestled itself into the fabric of her cowl; she stroked it absentmindedly. She and Azuran sat together on some cushions scattered about the shaded area, leaning against the twisted, spindly base of a nearby shop. Though she knew it was incorrect, the world seemed at peace. She had a lover; she had a small fortune around her neck; soon she would have her best friend by her side, and then she would leave her father’s plantation once and for all. The world was waiting for her. 

She reached out to Azuran, hooking her little finger through his. He smiled and snuck a kiss on her cheek. 

After checking with some of the vendors, they learned that asking for “the wizard of Sadrith Mora” brought nothing but confused looks. 

“Which wizard?” the potion seller said. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“The greatest, I suppose,” Vaynatah said. 

The potion seller laughed. 

“The greatest in  _ which _ area of study?” he said. 

“Um—ancient artifacts?”

He laughed again. 

“By that I suppose you mean treasure. You’ll want to see Master Neloth, up in Tel Naga. He’s the greatest, alright. Greatest in the field of being a pompous ass.”

Vaynatah nodded her thanks and started down the road. She leaned close to Azuran.

“I assume Tel Naga is the tower?” she said. 

“I think it’s a safe assumption.”

“Ha. I’ll learn how to find my way yet.”

They made their way to the imposing structure, through the arch of living roots and up the curved ramp to the door. Before Vaynatah could ask if they needed to knock, Azuran opened it and led her inside. 

The halls were quiet and winding, lit in some places by candles and others by glowing fungi. They found the main room, with its high ceilings and many doors and alcoves; Vaynatah glanced this way and that, but there were no signs or banners. She wondered how they would find Neloth. 

A woman about her age rushed by with a tray of tea things, the dishes rattling as she went. Vaynatah caught her up. 

“Excuse me, sera,” she said. 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to talk,” the woman said. “If I don’t get this upstairs right away, I’m doomed.”

“We’re just looking for Master Neloth.”

“Oh.” She paused. “This is for him. Follow me.”

She hurried to the far end of the room and stood before a blank wall. Vaynatah blinked, and suddenly the woman was a foot off the ground—and still rising. She alighted on a threshold near the ceiling, then turned back to them expectantly. 

“Would Neloth meet us down here, by any chance?” Azuran said. 

The woman let out a weary sigh. She let go of the tea tray, which remained floating where she left it, and dug a scrap of paper from her pocket. She flicked it down to them. 

“I’m sorry, but I simply don’t have the time for this,” she said. “He’s in the highest tower.”

She took up the tea things again and disappeared through the door. 

Vaynatah caught the paper before it touched the floor. She read it aloud.

“Welcome, honored guest of Tel Naga. Scrolls of levitation can be found in the west alcove.”

“Hmm. Do you think she’s tired of dealing with guests who can’t levitate?” he said. 

“I would be too,” she said, starting for the alcove. “Imagine the gall of having guests who can’t fly like a cliff racer. Terribly rude of them to come in and demand accessibility.”

“The impudence,” he laughed. 

They found the scrolls stacked neatly on a table. A thin layer of dust covered them; Vaynatah got the impression that the Telvanni rarely entertained anyone who was not a skilled magician. They each took a scroll. 

Azuran eyed his with distaste. 

“I’m not sure I trust these things,” he said. “Saw a fellow fall from the sky a few weeks back. Had a scroll like this in his hand.”

“I’m sure it will be fine.”

She approached the door and read the scroll to herself. Before she could finish, a burst of magic welled up around her; she could feel it rustling through her hair, swirling around her clothes. But she was not floating; her shoes were still on the ground. She wondered if the scroll did not work. Then she took a step—and nearly fell over. It seemed to her that her leg was sinking in mud. She waved her feet as though treading water, and began to rise. Her heart raced with excitement. The insect moved from her cowl to her shoulder, clinging tightly. A moment later, she found herself on the upper threshold. 

She glanced down at Azuran. He hovered just off the ground—but sideways. He reached out to steady himself against the wall, but it was just out of reach. Two Telvanni passing through the main hall paused to chuckle to themselves. 

“How in the blazes does this work?” He grunted. 

“It’s like swimming,” she offered. 

“What do you expect me to do, flap my arms?”

“Hang on, let me help.”

She stepped off the edge and slipped down to the floor, keeping her arms and legs together to descend faster. He still struggled to get himself upright. She pulled his arm over her shoulders and kicked them both up to the second level. 

Through the door, they found yet another way up, a tunnel that rose three stories straight. Azuran knitted his brow. 

“How long do you suppose these scrolls last?” he said. 

“I can’t say. Let’s hurry just in case.”

She guided them up the tunnel, passing floor after floor. The magic still felt strong, but she had to wonder—would it fade gradually, or all at once? Either way, she wanted to be on solid ground before that happened. 

They alighted on the top floor. Behind them, across the gap, was a closed door; before them was a modest chamber, less grand than the main hall, but elaborately furnished. Neat stacks of papers and open books lay on the desks and tables within, each item square to the nearest edge. At the far end of the room, seated upon a chair on a raised dais, sat a young Dunmer with the most exquisite robes Vaynatah had ever seen. An armored guard stood by. 

The Dunmer had a book laying open on his lap, and he glanced between it and a small Dwemer device that he turned between his fingers. Vaynatah expected him to greet them, but he remained focused on his study. Several moments passed. 

“... Master Neloth?” she said. 

“Yes?” he said, not looking up.

“We—we were wondering if—”

“Well, out with it, I don’t have all day.”

Azuran cut in.

“We have some artifacts that need appraising, but we would rather not trust the job to an amateur.”

Neloth glanced at him sidelong. 

“And you want me to help you, is that it?”

“Yes. We would pay you for your expertise, of course.”

“You cannot afford me,” he scoffed.

“Would you do it in exchange for one of the artifacts?” Vaynatah said.

He gave her a skeptical, yet interested look.

“One of my choosing?” he said.

“With a few exceptions.”

He pointed to the insect on her shoulder.

“That one.”

She placed a hand over the insect.

“But you haven’t even seen the rest—”

“I’ll take no other. That is my price.”

She coaxed the insect into her palm and looked it over. It stared back at her with its glass eyes, flicking its feelers. It was so small; she just wanted to protect it and keep it close. She brushed her fingers along its back and let out a breath. It let out a trill. If anyone could take good care of an ancient construct, she was sure it would be a scholar like Master Neloth. It would be safe with him, she told herself. She held the insect out. 

“Just put some warmth in your hand, and it should go right to you,” she said. 

Master Neloth sneered. 

“Gentility won’t get you very far with these. Mastery is what they need.”

He grabbed the insect and tore it from her hand; its legs left scratches from trying to hang on. It whipped its feelers to and fro, spitting steam as Master Neloth held it belly-up. He narrowed his eyes. The insect squealed; sparks jumped between its limbs. Then it curled in upon itself and went silent. 

Magic smoldered at Vaynatah’s fingertips, one wish away from bursting into flames. It took everything in her not to go for his throat and solder it closed. 

Azuran put a hand on her arm. She struggled to keep her voice even.

“What did you do?” she said. 

“I merely neutralized it,” he said. “Can’t have it crawling all over my work, you know.”

He set it on the desk at an equal distance from the other items. Azuran took off his bag and drew out other devices and valuables from Aleft.

“We found these in a secret room, untouched for all these years,” he explained.

Neloth took each item in turn and arranged them on the desk. Some he named; others he scrutinized in silence. Vaynatah delighted in the fact that he did not know what some of them were. 

“These are certainly quite valuable. It was a lucky find,” Neloth said. “Where do you intend to sell them, if I may ask?”

“To researchers in Vivec City. They hired me to find things like these.”

“I see. A thief for hire.”

“A treasure hunter, muthsera, if you please.”

“I never do.”

He scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to Azuran. 

“I’ll give you this much for the collection,” he said. 

Azuran studied the paper. His eyebrows shot up. 

“This is… generous to say the least,” he said. “But I promised the loot to my employers—“

“Are they offering that much?” Neloth said in a condescending tone. 

“No, but I consider it a matter of honor—“

“Honor won’t fill your pockets, boy. I’m willing to offer more. Name your price.”

“Thank you, but I would rather not have that much money on my person while I’m on the road.”

“I can give you wards. Invisibility. Enchanted weapons.”

Azuran shied away from the wizard. 

“I could part with one or two pieces, but—”

“Perhaps you do not understand. I have all the wealth of the Telvanni at my disposal. Be smart about this.”

Neloth advanced a step; Azuran retreated. Vaynatah sickened to see him looking so uncomfortable. She touched where the pendant hung under her cowl; part of her wanted to keep it secret from the wizard. But it would be a sure way to distract him. She pulled it above her collar and cradled it in her hand. The dull glow of the blue gem enticed her, tempted her to keep it for herself. It was nonsense—she had to part with it to free Fimb, and to do that, she needed to know what it was worth. She let it rest on her collar. 

Neloth paused his pursuit, as if he had caught a tempting scent on the breeze. He turned to her. His eyes never met hers; rather, they dropped straight to the pendant. 

“What is…?” His words trailed off. 

“Another item for your appraisal,” she said. 

Neloth reached for it, regardless of propriety. Vaynatah slapped his hand away. The guard straightened, his hand hovering over his sword hilt. Neloth scowled at her. 

“How do you expect me to appraise it when you won’t even let me look at it?”

“You could have used your manners and asked.”

His scowl deepened. 

“May I, then?”

Vaynatah took off the necklace and held it where he could see—but not before wrapping the chain tight around her hand. Neloth leaned close to investigate. His fingers brushed over the gem; he closed his eyes, furrowing his brow in concentration. Before even a moment had passed, his eyes snapped open, and he jolted back.

“By the Three,” he murmured. “You have no idea what you’ve found, have you?”

“Something rare, clearly.”

“Oh yes. And unspeakably valuable. Wars have been fought over this very thing.”

“What is it?”

He studied her a moment.

“Aetherium,” he said at last.

Vaynatah remembered the word from her studies, but she could not recall the significance. 

“Is it worth enough to buy a house slave?” she asked.

He chuckled grimly. 

“My dear, you could buy every slave in Vvardenfell and every plantation they work on.” A satisfied grin replaced his scowl. “Which is why I cannot let you leave with it.”


	10. Escape From Tel Naga

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can two runaways outrun a Telvanni master?

A chill ran up Vaynatah’s spine. She put the necklace back on and tucked the pendant down her shirt. Neloth motioned to the guard, who drew his sword. 

“Let’s not make this difficult,” he said. “Leave the jewel, and you are free to go.”

“And the rest of the treasure?” Azuran said. 

“I can guarantee whoever you take it to will have no idea what to do with it. The items are safer with me.”

“I see.”

His shoulders tensed; Vaynatah could see his sword hand twitching with restraint. Something told her he was weighing his options. She was doing the same. 

There was no doubt that the two of them could handle the guard with little trouble. Master Neloth was another story. Achieving his rank was no small feat; he must have been formidable. They would definitely lose a fight. But could they run? She checked for the levitation spell, but the magic had faded to nothing. She could have cursed. Her mind raced to think of another plan, but trapped as they were on the top floor, only two options were apparent. 

She and Azuran exchanged a look. He lunged forward and swiped one of the devices from the desk.

Then they ran. 

They dashed toward the door at the other end of the hall. Neloth called for more guards. Vaynatah forced herself not to consider their height as they leapt over the gap. Azuran caught her outstretched hand when she landed on the other side, then rushed to the door. It was unlocked; of course it was, Vaynatah thought. Why lock a door only wizards could reach?

They burst into the sunlight and found themselves on a wide terrace overlooking the city. The view would have been pleasant, had she not been running for her life. Her mind grew frenzied with panic. 

“What do we do now?” she said. 

“I have an idea. Do you know any spells that would let us climb the walls like a spider?”

“No. Do you?”

“No. Alright, I’m out of ideas.”

She spun this way and that, desperate for a way out. If she had just grabbed one more scroll, they would not be in this mess. She could feel the afterglow of magic, the path it took when coursing through her, the memory of where it used to be. It still felt close, as if all it would take to unlock the ability was to remember the right thing. It was foolish of her to think about it; she could never figure it out on her own. Even if she could, her store of magic would be far from sufficient to support the spell. She touched the pendant. Maybe it was not worth the trouble. 

But Fimb was.

The thought stirred something in her—she could not say if it was bravery or foolhardiness. She let out a breath. She let go of Azuran’s hand. 

“If I asked you to jump, would you do it?” she said. 

“What? What are you talking about?”

The door burst open. Four guards emerged, followed by Master Neloth. Azuran drew his sword and summoned the lightning whip; it crackled in his grasp. Neloth gestured for the guards to hold back. 

“I’m feeling generous today,” he said. “I’ll give you one last chance to hand it over and walk out of here.”

He wore a look of smug triumph. With a sickening pang, she realized it was the same look her father had worn the night she ran away. 

Without thinking, she called on her magic, sending it coursing through her veins faster than her racing pulse. She stepped back toward the edge. 

“Wait—what are you doing?” Azuran said, his voice on the cusp of panic. 

The levitation spell had left traces of itself behind, its unique shape an imprint in her mind—like a fossil, there and not there. 

“I’m not asking you to jump,” she said to him, her heels on the platform’s edge. “Not yet.”

“Vaynatah—”

She turned and leapt. 

The wind tore the breath from her lungs. The fall ripped out her stomach and left it behind. Azuran screamed her name. She paid him no mind; all she could see was the ground rushing up to meet her. Her magic traced the void the spell had left behind. Terror hovered at the edge of her thoughts. She forced herself to focus on the memory. Then her consciousness brushed at the Aetherium gem; it felt like a dam about to burst. She plucked away the last twig that held back the floodwaters. 

A sound escaped her lips; she could not tell if it was a gasp or a shriek. The surplus of magic hit her with the force of a gale. She struggled to think straight. The ground drew closer. Magic billowed around her as before. She closed her eyes and willed it to catch her. 

In an instant, the unseen power gathered itself, slowing her fall—just a moment too late. 

She collided with the ground. 

Her shoulder snapped. 

Pain lanced through her body. Through the mounting agony, her mind went frantic with the idea that she had done it—that she was alive. But only for now; there was no time to celebrate. 

She bent her mind toward her healing magic; without another thought, magic flocked to her call, and the break mended. Voices murmured nearby. Everyone in the city must have seen her stunt, she thought. From the corner of her eye, she saw five shapes descending at high speed. 

Panic jolted her. She might be able to take them herself, she thought, but the power was still too new; she had no control, no finesse. And if she lost, then all was lost—herself, the necklace, and Fimb. She had no doubt the Telvanni would kill Azuran too, just for causing trouble. No, she could not take them yet. 

She waited until they were almost upon her. Then she unleashed all the fire in her veins, letting it loose in a blinding burst of light and flame. Her pursuers recoiled. It was enough; she shot back up toward the tower. 

“Azuran!” she called. “Jump now!”

His head appeared over the edge. He wore a look of confusion. She stepped up beside him. He stared at her for a moment, as if proving to himself that she really was there. Before she could say another word, he wrapped his arms around her waist and crushed her to his chest. 

“I don’t know how you’re alive, but I don’t care,” he said. 

She clutched at his back. 

“Come on, you n’wah,” she said. “It’s time to go.”

He nodded. 

“Lead the way,” he said. 

“Hold on.”

She tipped them back, and they fell. Azuran clung to her so tight that she could barely breathe. She extended the spell to him, relieved when his weight was lifted. When a jutting branch of the tower drew near, Vaynatah steered close, then kicked off, sending them straight west over the scores of small islands that surrounded Sadrith Mora. 

Wind whipped through her hair, threatening to tear her braid loose. She leapt through the breeze, stepping with exaggerated strides, arcing with each bound. Every mistake in rhythm dropped them nearer to the ground. Once they almost touched the waters below. She gritted her teeth. Azuran said something she could not hear. 

“What?”

“I said they’re catching up,” he shouted. 

She glanced behind; Master Neloth and his guards flew at a distance, hurtling toward them. 

She swore under her breath. Of course they would be better at this, she thought; they practiced every day. Boundless magic is only as good as the user’s skill. In addition, they were not carrying extra weight. She took a deep breath and looked to the horizon ahead, focusing on the meter of her leaps. With the Aetherium’s help, her energies never waned; she felt sure the same could not be said for Master Neloth. She doubled her effort, and she and Azuran shot forward. 

“We don’t have to outrun them long,” she said, “Just until their magic is used up.”

The sun sank lower in the west, nearing the jagged horizon of the mountains. Soon they would be over the mainland. Part of her wondered how long the pendant would sustain her; then she recalled how frighteningly vast the gem’s power was. Another glance back revealed that the guards were beginning to lag. Two had dropped out of sight entirely. After another ten minutes, only Master Neloth remained. She wondered how long it would take for him to give up. Then it occurred to her: he was using the same strategy, waiting for her to tire. Or to run out of magic and fall to her death; she did not have to guess which one he would prefer. Whatever he wanted, she could not let the chase go on forever. 

She turned and sent a burst of fire at him, holding Azuran close so that he would not get caught in the blast. She meant it as a warning shot—but she did not count on the added power from the pendant. Even with her aim intentionally skewed, the enormous ball of flame grazed the hem of his robes. He jerked to a stop. Distant as he was, Vaynatah could hear him shouting curses. He banished the flames with a wave of his hand. 

“It would be wise to pace yourself,” he yelled. “You can’t keep this up forever.” 

“Yes I can. You know I can,” she replied. “Leave us alone. Don’t force me to do something drastic.”

A screeching cry sounded in the distance. 

“And what will you do, pray tell?” he sneered.

Lightning magic crackled beside her. Azuran had summoned the whip again. 

“Come and see!” he said. 

Neloth scowled. Without another word, he darted toward them. Azuran tensed, whip squealing with magic. Another screech echoed. Vaynatah’s heart raced. She hoped he would not call her bluff; now that he had, she was not sure what to do. She had prepared herself to do any number of things to free Fimb—but not kill someone. Neloth sped closer. Her mind raced for an alternative. 

Another cry sounded, so shrill and close that it split the air. As if summoned by her wish, a cliff racer swooped past, heading straight for the wizard. Vaynatah brightened. Perhaps she would not have to fight after all. 

The cliff racer plowed into him. They tumbled through the air, the animal’s beak locked on the wizard’s shoulder. He shot a burst of fire at its face. It let go with a scream. As it faltered and fell, Master Neloth chased it down with with an even larger burst. It steamed when it hit the water. 

That gave Vaynatah an idea. The wizard met her gaze; battered and disheveled as he was, his every look was sharp enough to cut. 

“I have had more than enough of you,” he panted. “I swear by The Three, if you do not hand over the Aetherium, I will boil you like a mudcrab. Have you heard that if you put one in cold water and slowly heat it, the creature won’t notice the difference? That it won’t climb out when the water boils?”

“What are you getting at?” Azuran said. 

Neloth drew closer. 

“That it’s not true. It’s a very slow death, and the poor wretches struggle and squeal the whole time. It’s horrible to watch. And a nice, slow death is exactly what I shall give the two of you.”

Vaynatah smiled. 

“Not if I boil you first,” she said. 

Before he could react, she summoned every spark of flame the pendant had to offer and threw it upon the water between them. An impenetrable cloud of steam billowed up. Neloth cried out in shock. Vaynatah did not waste another moment, but shot off westward over the mainland, leaving Neloth far behind. 


	11. An Impossible Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaynatah's dreams are on the line.

The night was still and the winds calm when they reached Lake Amaya. Vaynatah spotted amidst the water an outcropping of rock and soil just large enough to rest on. She descended. 

Her entire body trembled with exhaustion, but it did not feel the same as when she would overtax her magic. She did not feel tired—just used up. She sank to her knees.

“Are you alright?” Azuran said, dropping beside her. 

“Fine, fine,” she said. “I just need some rest, I think.”

He took off his bag and stretched out on the grass, then pulled her down beside him. She rested her head on his chest. It rose and fell with clockwork regularity. She almost felt proud. On their way to the lake, they had crossed the barren, ashy wastes surrounding Red Mountain, inevitably passing through an ash storm; yet between her healing magic and the wards she set up around them, the storm could not touch them. Azuran had laughed at the sight, taunting and cursing the volcano as they went. 

Vaynatah remained quiet throughout the journey, thinking over the future. She would nod whenever Azuran pointed out an idyllic glen or herd of guar bedding down for the night, but kept her lips sealed. She feared that if she spoke, she would weep. So she swallowed the lump in her throat and kept her eyes on the horizon. 

Master Neloth’s words still echoed in her mind. She traced her fingers over the necklace’s cold gem. She believed his estimation; his decision to chase after her was proof of the item’s worth. It was enough to buy every slave on her father’s plantation. Enough to buy the plantation itself. More than enough. Too much. 

She draped her arm over Azuran and ran her hand along his side, where the leather armor parted. 

“Now that you’ve seen what this necklace can do, are you sure you don’t want it back?” she murmured. 

“And have every wizard in Vvardenfell after me?” He chuckled. “You couldn’t pay me enough to take it.”

Tears began to spill down her cheeks. Her breathing hitched. She had already run through the scenario countless times. If she freed only Fimb, she would have to live with the fact that she had the power to help all of the slaves, yet did nothing. If she freed every slave, her father would just use the money to buy more. The suffering would never end. There was nothing for it. 

She could not hold back her sorrow any longer. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and burst into tears. She ran her fingers through his hair, over his tattoos, his scars, the stubble on his jaw, desperate to remember every detail. 

“Vaynatah? What’s wrong?”

He held her tighter. She clung to him. Just hearing him speak her name with such concern was enough to reopen the still fresh wounds.

“I can’t—” she tried to finish, but anguish smothered her words. She did not want to say it. She did not want it to be true. 

He sat up and faced her. 

“What is it? What can’t you do?” he said. 

Their eyes met. He searched her for a fleeting moment—then his expression fell. She saw in his look that he understood the decision before her. He knew. He knew that she would have to choose— either him, or all the souls bound to labor in her father’s fields. 

She gathered herself and spoke. 

“I can’t run away with you.” 


	12. The Lady, The Serpent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azuran receives a parting gift.

Azuran said nothing. He took Vaynatah’s hands in his, but did not meet her gaze. His lips were a thin line, his eyes narrow. The look of subdued pain tore at her heart. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said. 

Still he remained silent.

“Please say something,” she said.

He took a breath. 

“Of all the trinkets I could have grabbed from that room…” he muttered. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “But what’s done is done. You have responsibilities now, and I won’t keep you from them.”

“Aren’t you angry with me?”

“No. I’m just selfish. I want you all to myself.” He wrapped his arms around her neck and held her close. “Sometimes I lie and say I prefer to be alone. But going wherever the wind blows and seeing grand things feels more… real when someone is with you.”

More tears clouded her sight. She watched them fall on his shoulder. 

“Not that I can see them very well anyway,” he chuckled. “But I am selfish. I admit that part of the reason I want you with me is for how well you keep me alive. But even if you couldn’t, I would want you.”

“Even though I’m a spoiled, naive heiress?” 

“Even so,” he chuckled.

She wanted to ask him to stay. His words almost convinced her that he would if she asked. The question burned her tongue. She bit it back. She could not ask that of him—not when his heart longed for freedom. Not when it would guarantee a short life. 

His hand roved along her spine. 

“But the way you breathe life into this dying body…” He sighed. “Well. I’ll put it this way: for the first time, I began to think I might live to an old age.” 

She knew that if she left with him, he certainly would. His words broke her restraint. She held tighter to him, trembling with sobs. 

“You have to live,” she said. “You have to go to all the places I’ll never see.”

“I will, I will. And I’ll even write when I can.”

“Will you send me things?”

“Of course. I’ll say, ‘here’s a diamond the size of my fist, and here’s a circlet worn by Dibella herself.’”

“No, don’t send me treasures,” she said, forcing herself to calm down. “Send me rocks and shells and insect wings. Send me pieces of the world.”

“I will.”

A horrible thought turned her stomach.

“But how will you pay for it?” she said. “We left everything with Master Neloth. It’s all my fault.”

“Well… not quite everything,” he said. “I kept a few pieces in my bag. You didn’t think I trusted him that much, did you?”

She laughed, almost manic with relief. 

“Thank goodness for that,” she said. “But there’s one more thing that’s bothering me.”

“Hmm?”

“If you’re going to see the world without me, I want you to actually see it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never done this before, but… I think I can now. If you don’t mind me trying something.”

He did not draw back or stop her when she raised her hands to his face. She placed her palms to his temples, resting her thumbs over his eyelids. She relaxed her shoulders. The Aetherium leapt to her call almost before she reached out; its magic flowed through her as though it were her own blood. She sent it little by little to his eyes, slowly so as not to shock him. Their skin cooled where it met. He flinched back. 

“Did that hurt?” she said. 

“No, it was just… strange.”

“Would it be alright if I continue?”

He nodded. She closed her eyes and concentrated, feeling out the weak places in his sight. The solution skirted the edge of her thoughts. Each time she reached for it, it eluded her, like a nearly-forgotten memory. She gritted her teeth. With a final burst of effort, she seized the answer. 

Azuran recoiled. He pressed a hand to his eyes and swore. Vaynatah put a hand to his brow, terrified that something had gone amiss. 

“Are you alright? What’s wrong?” she said. 

“My head is spinning,” he groaned. 

He looked up and winced, then blinked several times and looked again. Confusion overtook his features, and then—wonder. 

“Wait,” he murmured. He passed his hand over his eyes. “Wait…”

“What is it?”

“Is this—” He glanced skyward. “Is this how it always looks to you?”

“What, the sky?”

He got to his feet, wavering slightly before regaining his balance. Vaynatah followed. He put a hand to his mouth; his eyes never left the sky. Tears dripped over his fingers. She stepped behind him and wrapped her arms around his middle. He shuddered with the effort to contain himself. 

“I can see the constellations,” he said.

She squeezed him tighter. She relished how warm he felt in her arms, how his body gave just a little. She would miss that, she thought. Even now the sensation sent a pin through her heart. She backed away, but he turned and gathered her into his embrace.

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

“Consider it a goodbye present,” she said.

“Goodbye?”

“I can take you to Vivec City first, of course. But it’s time that I do what I set out to do.”

“Yes, you should. And I’m coming with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“If you want me to leave right now, then say so and I’ll be on my way. But I know I won’t rest easy until I can be sure that you and your friend are alright.”

She took his hand and kissed it. 

“N’wah,” she said. “You know I’m the one working for you, right?”

“You’ve been paid, so you’re no longer my employee. Now you’re just my—” he hesitated. “My friend.”

Tears welled up in her eyes again. From the pained look in his expression, she could tell he wanted to say more. Yet they both knew that it would only make their parting all the more sorrowful. She called on her magic, held him tighter, and started off toward Venim Plantation.


	13. Reunited with Fimb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaynatah and Azuran finally make it back to Venim Plantation.

It was nearly morning when they arrived. Vaynatah wished they had stopped along the way to rest; she would have been grateful to awake in Azuran’s arms one last time. 

They walked together along the road to the plantation. With every step, her heart sank lower. For a brief moment, she had everything she could ever want. She had her freedom; she had the means to guarantee her friend’s freedom as well. She had a lover. And the whole world beckoning. 

She struggled to keep her head up. Tears threatened to overwhelm her, but she crushed down the feeling. It would not help. All that was left to do was finish it. 

“It’s just over this next hill,” she said. 

“What will you do if he refuses to sell?” Azuran said. 

“I don’t know.”

He took her hand. 

The sky had just begun to lighten by the time they set foot on her father’s land. From a distance, they could see the Argonians making their way from the slaves’ quarters to the fields. Vaynatah searched the crowd for Fimb’s distinct silhouette. She and Azuran avoided open areas; she wanted to find Fimb first. 

One Argonian caught sight of them, then froze in his tracks. Vaynatah recognized his horns; it was Scrys-Deep. He strode over to them. Before she could make introductions or even say hello, he pulled her by the arm behind one of the shacks. Azuran followed, his hand on his sword. 

“You’re a fool to come back,” Scrys-Deep hissed, “and brash to just walk in like that.”

“I’m looking for Fimb—”

“Of course you are. You’re lucky I found you before anyone else. Your father put a price on your head. Whoever brings you to him will get one day off a week for the rest of the year.” 

“He did? Why would—”

“Because he’s been on the warpath since you left.” He turned his head, revealing a new cut just below his eye. “Now give me one good reason why I shouldn’t turn you in myself.”

“Because I’m going to free—”

“Vaynatah!”

A familiar voice called her name. She turned to see Fimb rushing toward her. She nearly cried with joy. Forgetting Scrys’ warning to stay out of sight, Vaynatah broke away and ran into her arms. Fimb held her tight. 

“I thought you were dead,” she said, her voice hoarse. 

“No, I’m fine. Why would you think that?”

“I heard you arguing with your father, and suddenly you were gone! And no one saw you leave—and that reward? I thought it was just to throw us off.” She squeezed tighter. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“I’m better than alright. But what about you? Are you hurt at all?”

Scrys-Deep pulled them both back behind the shack, grumbling about how their sentiment would get them in trouble. When they were safely out of sight, Vaynatah introduced Azuran to the rest. 

“Isn’t he handsome,” Fimb commented. “Look at all those scars.”

She wished there was more daylight left so she could see him blushing. 

“Yes, I think so,” Vaynatah said.

“But one thing confuses me. If you managed to get away, why in the world would you come back? You aren’t bound like we are.”

Vaynatah took her hands. 

“I came back to free you.”

Fimb’s eyes grew distant. The small spines above her eyes furrowed. 

“I won’t hope for that,” she said. “You father would never let it happen.”

“It will happen, because he won’t be the lord here anymore. I will be.”

“How—” Fear overcame her expression. “You don’t mean to kill him, do you?”

“No, no,” Vaynatah waved a hand, hoping it would not come to that. “I intend to buy the plantation. And then all of you will be free.”

She chanced to bring the pendant out of her cowl just long enough for Fimb and Scrys to see it. Scrys tilted his head. 

“How could that thing be worth an entire plantation?” he said. 

“We learned of its value from a reliable source,” Azuran added. “In fact, the source tried to kill us and take it for himself.”

“Hmm. I see,” Scrys-Deep narrowed his eyes at Vaynatah. “And if he doesn’t accept the offer?”

“He’d be a fool not to.”

“But what if he doesn’t accept?” he hissed. 

“I—” She looked away, racing for an answer. Her father would not listen to her; of course he wouldn’t. He never had before. Would he even believe that the necklace was valuable, or would he think she is trying to trick him? Her head spun with possibilities. She would likely have to force him to take the payment and go; how would she accomplish that without the Aetherium’s power? She could not do it alone, that much was certain. 

She met Scrys-Deep’s eyes. 

“I’ll need your help,” she said. “Everyone’s help. If we confront him together, he might listen. He can’t refuse all of us.” 

“This is rich,” he scoffed. “So you’re a liberator now? Is that it? A glorious heroine, here to save us poor wretches? Shall we flock behind you, singing our gratitude?”

“What—?”

His voice grew more severe. He loomed over her; she had never realized quite how large he was. 

“You’ve grown fat on our hard work for years and only just now decided you have a problem with our bondage?” he spat. “What do you want, a ‘thank you’?”

“Scrys, enough,” Fimb said calmly. “She wants to free us. Would you rather things stay the way they are?”

A struggle crossed his features. 

“Fine,” he grumbled. “But how are we supposed to have a rebellion with these?”

He held up an arm; the dented and scraped metal of his shackle had a dull gleam. Vaynatah scowled at the device. How many times had her father used them? How many times did he take them off a dead slave just to put them on a new one? Deep anger, years in the making, sent her heart racing. She would not argue with the shackle; she would give no quarter to the magic that kept the Argonians trapped. 

The Aetherium leapt at her call. She seized the metal and gripped it tight. Scrys flinched back, but she held fast. The spell fought against her. She did not relent, nor waver even once. A moment later, the shackle split in two. It fell to the ground. 

Scrys-Deep rubbed his forearms, his expression blank with disbelief. 

“I know I didn’t do everything I could have before,” she said. “But let me atone for it now. You’re going to be free, like it or not; if you want to make the process a bit easier, I could use a hand.”

Vaynatah turned to Fimb and removed her shackle. Tears spilled down her scales; she took Vaynatah by the shoulders and pressed her forehead to hers. 

“Clever, clever girl,” she said. “Now there’s no need to confront your father. We can just leave, all of us.”  
Vaynatah shook her head.

“I won’t stop any of you from leaving, but I cannot,” she said. “It isn’t enough to stage a break out. We need to stop the system that brings in more slaves. We need to—” She hesitated. “I need to take my father’s place.”

“Not to mention the fact that he could just send the law after us runaways,” Scrys-Deep said. 

“Exactly. If I’m to free you legally, I need to be the landowner. Then the law will be on my side.”

“And how are we to insure that you’ll keep your word?” Scrys said. 

Fimb scowled at him.

“I’ll remove all the shackles first,” Vaynatah said. “Whoever wants to leave will be free to do so. Those who stay will help insure that no one gets caught and re-sold. Now spread the word; tell everyone to meet in the courtyard. Once all the bonds are broken, I’ll confront him.”

Scrys-Deep gave her an appraising look. After a moment, he shook her hand. 


	14. Father and Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many seek revenge; only one may have it.

The crowd murmured with anticipation. Dawn was near. Vaynatah stood by the door, her hand resting on the latch. She trembled at the thought of going inside. Fimb lay a hand on her shoulder. 

“Let me go in,” she said. “I’ll bring him out here. Then you can settle things with plenty of witnesses.”

Vaynatah nodded. She was sure that if she spoke, her voice would give away how scared she was. Fimb hid her unmanacled wrists in the folds of her skirt and disappeared through the door. 

Vaynatah surveyed the throng of Argonians. With a pang of shame, she realized that she did not know all of their names. Some regarded the pile of shackles in the center of the courtyard. Others cast furtive glances at her; they did not entirely trust her yet. She could not blame them. 

She turned to them and called for attention. 

“Everyone,” she began to say, but her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I would like to begin by saying thank you for standing by me in this. You have no reason to help me. In fact, you have every reason to hate me. I apologize for not acting on your behalf sooner.”

_ I would have done so, but I was just as trapped as you were _ , she wanted to say, but the words died in her throat. It tasted of a lie. 

“As you know, you are free to leave at any time,” she continued. “I recognize that I have no right to ask this, but… I would like to make an example of this place. I want to show my people that a plantation can function without slave labor. However, if I have to gather an entire workforce on my own, I will likely lose this season’s harvest and go bankrupt. That being said—and I know this sounds insane—but if any of you would be at all willing to stay, I will guarantee fair payment and one—no, two days off per week. Now who’s with me?”

She expected a response; naively, she hoped for applause. Yet the crowd remained silent. One voice broke the stillness. 

“Depose the master first,” the voice said, “then we can discuss the details.”

She nodded. 

Footsteps echoed from the other side of the door. Panic lanced through her; she realized that she had no idea what to say to her father. Talking to the Argonians was one thing—she was used to conversing with Fimb everyday—but the impending presence of her father, when they had such a weighty topic to discuss, was more than enough to strike her mute. Her heart raced. The blood in her ears drowned out all sound. There was no time now. She squared her shoulders and tried to look sure. 

The door opened. 

“What in Oblivion could be so pressing that I need to be up at this hour…” her father growled. 

He froze on the doorstep. Tension rippled through the crowd. 

“What is the meaning of this?” he said. 

Vaynatah stepped forward. His eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in confusion, finally coming to rest on a look of suspicion. A flitter of concern did not escape her notice; the look gutted her. She took a deep breath. 

“I have come to buy the plantation,” she said. Her voice wavered. 

“Where have you been?” he said. 

There was the concern again; vague, fleeting, but undeniably there. She had expected nothing less than unbridled animosity. This change all but knocked the wind from her. 

“I have been working to free—I mean, toward the liberation of all—” 

“What are you talking about? Liberation?”

“Yes, I—yes. I am here to—to buy you out.”

His voice resumed its usual condescending tone.

“With what money, may I ask?” he said.

“I have gathered more than enough in valuables, which I will trade you for the deed.”

“You’ve only been gone three days!”

“B’Vehk. Is that all?”

“How are you alive?” he spat.

His words made her want to scream and go silent all at once. She wanted to run to her room and slam the door. But keeping herself hidden, demurring when she ought to speak, was the way of her old self. Now she would be heard. She would make herself heard. 

“Because I’m not the useless child you always said I am,” she said, growing louder. He tried to cut her off, but she kept talking. “You said I’d be dead within a week, but look! Three days, and I’m richer than you’ve ever dreamed. Now sign the plantation—and all the people on it—over to me, and you’ll be able to retire to Mournhold like you’ve always wanted.”

She pulled the pendant out of her shirt and let it lay on top, where it could be seen. 

“This is your payment,” she said. “It’s worth enough to buy this land a hundred times over. Take it and go.”

His eyes fixed on the gem. He squinted and glanced at it sidelong, as if looking at it directly caused him pain. 

“Is that what I think it is?” he said, stepping forward. 

Vaynatah stepped back and hid it under her collar. 

“Once the paperwork is signed, it will be yours,” she said. 

He laughed bitterly. 

“It will be mine immediately. As a gift from my contrite daughter, to atone for the worry she caused me these last few days.”

He advanced. She flung up her hand between them; not as a defense, but as a warning. 

“What are you going to do?” he scoffed. 

The crowd murmured. Some took a step forward. Vaynatah gestured to them. 

“They stand with me. Keep that in mind.”

“They won’t do anything—” 

The crowd parted to reveal the pile of discarded shackles. He paled. 

“They are no longer under your power,” Vaynatah said. “The paperwork is merely a formality. I suggest you cooperate.”

His eyes narrowed; his nostrils flared. He glanced from her to the crowd, fuming. Vaynatah wanted to enjoy his powerlessness. But the feeling to her was still too recent, too fresh a wound. She would not wish it upon anyone, even upon her own father; in that moment, she desperately wished for him to take the pendant without a fuss. Yet power long held was difficult to surrender. Especially for a man as proud as he. 

“You spoiled, ungrateful brat,” he hissed. “I give you everything a foolish girl could want, and this is how you repay me?”

“I don’t want luxury at this price. I never did.”

“Would you have rather been poor?” His voice grew thin with rage. “Not having enough to eat, working your fingers to the bone everyday?” 

Her voice nearly broke as she said,

“What, like how you force them to live?”

His eyes blazed with fury. He lashed out to strike her. But before the blow could land, Fimb grasped him by the wrist. He looked to her, his expression dripping with pure hatred.

“I command you to unhand me,” he said. 

She said nothing, but dug her claws into his skin. He gasped and bent away from the pain; when Vaynatah saw the blood running down his arm and staining his fine robes, she nearly went dizzy. 

“I do not answer to your command,” Fimb hissed.

She squeezed harder, sending him to his knees. He grasped at her arm and raked his hand across it. In all the excitement, Vaynatah had forgotten about the cruel ring he wore. The metal bit deep. Fimb jerked away; blood streamed down her scales. 

Something in Vaynatah broke at the sight. Years of restraint, of looking away, shattered under the onslaught of rage. She despised the cruelty of it. It made her want to be cruel. She strode past Fimb, healing her with a thought, and hauled her father to his feet. In a single sweep of her hand, she summoned Azuran’s dagger from his belt, caught it, and plunged it into her father’s belly. 

The breath left him in a cough. He clung to her shoulders. Tremors shook his body. 

A chill spread through her. She could feel the life draining from him with every drop of hot blood that streamed across her fingers. Yet no emotion struck her—or perhaps they all struck at once. The result was an empty calm, a quiet she could not define. She trembled. 

Her father slumped against her. Before it was too late, she tore the dagger free and closed the wound with a burst of magic. 

He crumpled to the ground, gasping for air. His eyes roved about, desperate. 

Vaynatah took a shuddering breath. The blood was still warm on her hands. She dropped the knife.

“I have spared you,” she muttered. “I have shown you more mercy than many who have lived and died here. Now I will not ask you again. Deed the property to me.”

“You… you…” he gasped. 

His countenance displayed an emotion she had never seen in him before: that of unfiltered terror. She wondered if they looked at all alike in that moment. 

“Don’t be upset,” she said in a shaky voice. “You were right, after all. I was a spoiled brat. I was spoiled and scared because I believed the lie that I could not find my own way. But now you won’t have to look after me anymore. I relieve you of the burden.”

She grabbed his arm and stood him on his feet. He wavered, still regarding her with unmingled shock, still clutching at his middle. 

“Now come inside,” she said, starting for the door. “Let’s finish this.”

She turned the latch. 

“Yes,” he said. “Let’s.”

The scrape of metal on stone caught her ear. Before she could turn to see, there came a shout and a scuffle. She whirled about. Fimb grappled with her father and forced him to the ground. He clutched the dagger in his hand, still slick with his own blood. In that moment, the Argonian was not the kind, maternal being Vaynatah had befriended. She was wild, frenzied. She was her namesake. 

Fights-Many-Battles plunged her teeth into his throat. 

The blade clattered to the ground.

Vaynatah looked away. 


	15. Farewell

By midday, the ashes of her father’s funeral pyre had smoldered to crackling embers. Vaynatah watched them cool and grow dim. Fimb sat beside her. Neither had said a word in an hour. The silence weighed on her. 

“Will you stay, or will you return to Black Marsh?” Vaynatah said. 

Fimb regarded her. 

“Do you want me to stay?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Fimb glanced back at the pyre. 

“I have made an orphan of you.”

Vaynatah took a deep breath. 

“I don’t hate you for it,” she said. “If anyone deserved to take vengeance, it was you.”

Fimb did not meet her eyes. 

Scrys-Deep emerged from the courtyard, where he and the rest were discussing the next steps. He gestured for Fimb to join them. 

Fimb rose from her seat on the bench. 

“Do you mind if I…?” 

“Of course, of course,” Vaynatah said. 

“I’ll stay if you would rather.”

She reached out and pressed Fimb’s hand. 

“It’s alright.”

Fimb nodded. She gave her a squeeze and joined the others. 

Vaynatah stared into the ashes. She considered gathering them and taking them to the family tomb. Did he deserve the honor? Even if he did not, would it be the right thing to do? In spite of everything, he was still her father. But the thought of mingling his ashes with her mother’s made her sick. She shook her head. It was too confusing. 

Azuran approached and sat beside her. 

“Are there any left to help me?” she murmured. 

He regarded her a moment. 

“Most of them disappeared into the lake as soon as they got their papers. Bottled them up and jumped right in,” he said. “But some did stay.”

“That’s good. I’ll have to give them something nice.”

Silence drew out between them. He took her hand. 

“Are you alright?” he said.

She nodded. 

“I will be.”

Another pause.

“It’s so strange,” she continued. “He’s always been there. He’s rarely been kind, but he’s always been a part of my life. I knew just leaving him behind would have been hard. But this is something else entirely—” Her voice caught.

“You gave him ample opportunity. No one can say you didn’t give him a chance.”

“I couldn’t let him hurt my—I couldn’t let him do that again,” she whispered. 

He pulled her close. She felt numb; yet the gesture brought tears spilling down her cheeks. She buried her face in his cowl, though the smell of smoke on the fabric made her choke. 

“I didn’t want it to happen this way,” she said. “I just wanted him to leave—”

Her voice shattered at last. She clutched at Azuran and sobbed. He held her tight, running a hand up and down her back.

“Are you angry with her?” he said.

She shook her head.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I feel. It all happened so fast. If it had been anyone else, I might be, but—I just don’t know.”

She broke again, sobbing harder than before. He held her in silence. For a long while they remained thus. Then, when the tears slowed and Vaynatah found she could breathe without gasping, she collected herself and sighed. 

“Thank you for staying,” she murmured. 

“No need to thank me.”

She wanted to ask him to stay longer. A few weeks, maybe a month. 

“Can I ask a favor?” she said. 

“Whatever you need.”

The question burned her tongue. She held back. 

“I want to keep the dagger,” she said.

“The one he tried to…?”

“Yes. I want to keep it as a reminder.”

He nodded, then drew away and got to his feet. Vaynatah followed.

“Alright.” He dug something out of his pocket. “You should probably keep this, too.” 

He held out the item to her. It was a little brass sphere; it unraveled in her palm, and the insect flicked its feelers at her. 

Her vision blurred with tears. He pressed her hand. The question all but burst from her lips. It was such a simple gesture, yet it spoke of a level of understanding and companionship that she had only ever found in Fimb. She set the insect on the bench and took Azuran’s face in her hands. 

“By the Almsivi,” She said. “And by Azura, and by the House of Troubles, I—”

She took a deep breath for what she would say next. Then her eyes strayed to what lay behind the bench where they sat. It was his bag, packed and ready for his departure. 

The declaration died in her throat. 

“I wish you well,” she said.   
He pressed his forehead to hers. 

“Are you sure you can’t…?” He trailed off.

She struggled not to weep again. 

“I wish I could,” she said.

“Perhaps I could…”

Her heart leapt up. The idea was pain and joy all at once. She met his eyes. 

“But would you be happy?” she said. “You would be bound to this land again. You would often be sick again. Could you be happy like that?”

He hesitated. 

“I’ll have you,” he said at last.

A cry crept upon her; she let out a bitter laugh instead. 

“If it only took one person to make another happy, then I would have been happy here with Fimb. But I wasn’t. We aren’t meant to be caged, you and I.” 

“But—”

“Look at me. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you could be content remaining here,” she said. Her voice grew strained. “It will be years before I have the time to go anywhere else. Tell me that you could live with that arrangement, and we can be together forever.”

She searched his gaze for an answer. His eyes held hers long enough—just long enough that she began to believe he would stay. Then they shifted, and he looked away.

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

She ran a finger along the scar on his jaw.

“It’s alright,” she said. 

He met her eyes again. The sorrow in his look, the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes broke her heart anew. She threw her arms around him and drew him into a kiss. She cradled the back of his head. She ran her fingers through his hair. 

“I won’t ask you to stay,” she whispered in his ear. “Not when this land holds no joy for you.”

His shoulders tensed, then softened. He pulled back, slowly, reluctantly, then lifted his bag from the ground and slung it onto his back. 

“Walk me to the road?” he said.

She took his hand, and they made their way to the edge of her father’s property—her property. They walked slowly. Without so many words, they agreed that their last walk should be a long one. They stood on a hill; the sunrise flooded the valley and the lake with cold, golden light. Vaynatah wished she could bottle its beauty and taste of it when she longed for the world—an inoculation against her wanderlust. But if she could not see it herself, she would make sure that Azuran saw as much of it as one man could. 

She placed a hand on his chest, slipping it under his armor and letting it rest over his heart. The magic of the Aetherium flocked to her call. A chill issued from her hand.

He sucked in a breath. 

“What are you doing?” he said. 

She did not reply, choosing instead to concentrate on her work. But this hurt was not like that of his eyes; it was the result of years of abuse, a wound calloused over a hundred times. A weakness began before birth. She sent her magic deep into the lifetime of scars, working into the pain, endeavoring to soothe away the affliction. Yet the deepest hurt did not give way. It budged—and that was all. 

She gathered herself for another try. Azuran pulled away. 

“Wait—wait,” he said. 

“Let me try again—”

“Vaynatah.” He took her wrist and moved her hand away from his chest. “It’s alright.”

She furrowed her brow. After all she had learned to do, she was sure she could work it out in time. 

“If I had more time…” she said. 

“It’s alright. Being broken has its merits,” he said. “It helps me know who my true friends are.”

He gave a little smile—crooked, unpracticed—a look of genuine affection toward a trusted companion. 

She ached to kiss him again. She burned with the thought of holding him close, but she knew that doing so would only cause more pain later. She would gladly inflict such suffering on herself, she thought. But not on him.

She nodded, struggling to hold back a fresh wave of tears. 

“Stay safe,” she murmured. “See the world for me.”

He took her hand and kissed it. 

“Goodbye,” he said. 

“I won’t say it.”

He pressed her hand once more, then started down the road. She turned her back so she would not have to see him go. Yet hearing his footsteps grow more and more quiet, as subtle as the change was, destroyed her resolve not to cry. She buried her face in her hand. Hot tears washed over her.

His footsteps paused. Then they resumed, growing closer this time. She did not turn to look. In time she felt his back pressed against her shoulders. His hand searched blindly until it found hers. She clung to him, lacing their fingers together. She was spoiled; she wanted it all. She wanted to help the people here and help herself. She wanted to stay and wander. No one would stop her if she ran. She wanted to be free so much more than she wanted to be responsible. If she knew a spell to split herself into two people, one to remain at home and one to remain with him, she would have done so. 

But there was nothing for it. There was no such spell. She could go with him just as well as she could keep him trapped there, the way her father had trapped her. He was one scar she could not keep.

She let him go.


	16. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many years later...

His pulse quickened at the smell of ash. A chill breeze carried it over the water. Azuran clutched his cowl close to his face; though his illness had grown quiet over the years—replacing his more severe reactions with a constant dry cough—just the smell of smoke was enough to make him worry. 

The ship eased into port, guided so gently that it barely bumped against the dock. Azuran stood and took his walking stick. He braced his free hand on the dock’s lantern post and stepped up onto solid ground. He wavered; after three days of sailing, the land seemed to tilt more than the ship. 

“Need a hand, father?” said Hans, one of the crewmen. It was a nickname Azuran had picked up during the trip. He had no children. 

“I’m alright, thank you,” Azuran said. “I’ll find my balance in a moment.”

“It can be strange at first, but you’ll get used to it,” he offered. 

“Son, I’ve been sailing longer than you’ve been alive.”

Hans looked away sheepishly. 

“Well. It’s been good to have you aboard,” he said. “Best of luck on your journey. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Azuran nodded his thanks and set off along the dock. Hans was a good enough fellow, he thought. A little ignorant, but a hard worker, and smarter than he seemed. The Nord had regarded Azuran with reluctance, even outright hostility when he first boarded in Solitude. Azuran expected no different. Yet he had patience with the young man, and when the other crewmen asked him questions about his life, Hans always listened. By the end of the first day, he no longer called him “that grayskin.” By the end of the second day, the whole crew called him “father” for the stories he told.

Azuran did not let on how much the title bothered him. Part of him liked the name; it had an air of respectability. The rest of him only pondered what could have been. If he had not run. If he had stayed with her.

He shook his head of the memories. There were few things he regretted; leaving Morrowind was not one of them. He had seen the lights in the sky over Winterhold; he had delved the forests of Valenwood; there were even a few Kahjiit clans around whose fire he would always be welcome. No, he did not regret seeing the world. He did not regret living. 

He only regretted doing it alone. 

The city of Raven Rock stretched before him, all twists and turns that hugged the shore. The streets were illuminated with a languid, shadowless light broken here and there by bright lanterns. Their flickering glow bathed the insect-like Redoran style buildings. The sight brought back memories of his childhood home in the north of Vvardenfell. They were almost good memories. 

A guard in bonemold armor passed him by. Azuran coughed, then cleared his throat to get the guard’s attention. 

“Sera,” he said. The guard turned to him. “I’m looking for someplace in particular. Would you mind giving me some directions?”

“Of course, muthsera,” the guard said; his voice was certainly that of a Dunmer, but his accent was strange. 

“I’m looking for a dealer in rare goods and antiques, Dwemer artifacts even. I was told that the shop is run by a woman about my age. A Dunmer, naturally.”

“Yeah, I know the one,” he said. 

Azuran’s heart skipped a beat. 

“You’ll be looking for Norvayn’s place,” the guard continued. “It’ll be north of town, on top of the cliffs. Take care you don’t slip on the path; the ashfall’s been heavy this week.”

His heart sank at the name. It hadn’t been her, after all. When he had heard of a shop in Solstheim whose proprietor kept a Dwemer construct as a pet, he felt so sure that it had been her. But no, he thought; even at his age, he was still a fool. More likely than not, she had perished with the others when Red Mountain unleashed its fury. All Dunmer were cursed—himself more than most. 

He thanked the guard and turned to leave, but before he could take a single step, the guard placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Wait, muthsera,” he said. “You—you’re from the old country, aren’t you? From before?”

He tried to meet the guard’s eyes, but they were hidden behind his helmet. 

“Yes,” Azuran said. 

“What was it like?”

Now Azuran recognized his accent. He was young. He had grown up somewhere outside of Morrowind. His skin was grey, but his body had never known the land of his ancestors. A Dunmer in little more than name. 

“It was beautiful,” Azuran said. “Though I often did not see it.”

He made his way along the path up the hill, glad for his walking stick. He used to dislike the idea of using one; getting tired quickly already made him feel older than he was. When he finally let himself try, he found that he could go much farther before stopping to catch his breath. 

Soon he came to the top of the cliff; he took a moment to rest on the basalt columns. With the towering pines at his back and the sea before him, he could almost believe that he was in the West Gash. He sighed and continued on. 

There was a little house nestled at the edge of the forest, but it was not arched like the rest of the town; it was blocky, built in the Hlaalu style. His stomach lurched at the sight. He often imagined her in a house like that, spending quiet hours in reading and spellcraft. Becoming an even better healer. Always curious, always brave, always kind. Kinder than he deserved when they first met. 

His stomach grew more upset with every step. How long had he dreamed of meeting her again, of finding her in a house just like this—yet she would not be there. A hanging pennant read “Rare Goods” in Daedric. He pushed open the door and stepped inside. 

Shelves lined every wall, each and every level brimming with neatly arranged trinkets, more of a museum than a shop. He got the notion that this Norvayn had more interest in buying than selling. A fire crackled in the hearth; he crossed to it and warmed his hands. Footsteps met his ears. He turned to find a woman coming down the stairs. 

For a moment, his heart stopped. 

She descended with the grace of a Great House noblewoman, a spark in her eyes, a smile on her full lips, beautiful, young—

Too young. It could not be her. 

She tossed her long hair, a dark, rich red, over her shoulder. If he were not an old fool, he would have noticed right away that her hair was all wrong. 

“Welcome to Norvayn’s Rarities,” she said with a cordiality that was more Nord than Dunmer. “Can I help you find anything?”

He took a breath to calm himself, but coughed into his arm instead. 

“No, thank you,” he said. “I doubt I’ll find what I’m after.”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “Well, let me know if you need something.”

She retreated to a different shelf and busied herself with dusting. Azuran wandered along the displays, not quite looking at anything. Evening would be here soon, he thought; he would have to find a place to sleep before long. He had grown tired of sleeping under the stars every night. He started for the door. 

Something caught his eye. On a shelf close to the door sat a segmented bronze ball. It looked as though the other items had been pushed aside for it. The sight stirred very old memories. He picked up the object. 

“Oh Ayem, that’s where you got off to,” the woman said. “Sorry about the mess. This little fellow is always getting into trouble.”

“You’re Norvayn, I take it?”

“One of them. My mother owns the shop. Here, I’ll show you how to open it if you like.”

“I know how to open it.”

The magic came easier than it used to. Over the past few decades, he had come to rely on it more than his sword. In time, he stopped carrying any weapons at all. 

He summoned just enough fire magic to warm the bronze. A moment passed. Azuran could see young Norvayn eyeing him with uncertainty. 

There came a snap, then a quiet creak. The ball unfurled into the Dwemer insect he remembered. 

“Careful, he doesn’t like strangers,” she said. “Let me take him before he tries anything.”

“It’s alright. I’m not a stranger to—Ayem, did you call him?”

She nodded. Ayem poked at him with his feelers, then let out a trill. He skittered up Azuran’s arm and settled on his shoulder. 

“Um—would you excuse me a moment?” she said, then disappeared upstairs. 

He ran a finger over the insect’s back. 

“I’m glad you remember me, little friend,” he said. “Now how did you get all the way out here?”

Azuran heard young Norvayn speaking with another woman. It was clear that she was suspicious; more likely than not, she was urging her mother to come down and kick him out. He chuckled. It had been years since that happened. Age may have lined his face, but it had smoothed the scars and rough edges that made shopkeepers nervous. 

Young Norvayn returned with the other woman in tow. Azuran did not look up, but continued stroking Ayem. 

“There he is,” the younger said. “He knew how to open Ayem. Are you sure you don’t know him?”

“Give me a moment, dear. I haven’t even seen him yet.”

The voice brushed at his memories, familiar, yet changed. He sighed, forcing all the wishful thinking from his mind. He scooped Ayem into his hand and held him out to the approaching woman. 

“I believe this is yours…” He met her eyes. The words died in his throat. 

She took the insect and smiled when it nestled down into her palm. Her lips had grown thinner than when he last saw her. Her hair, which she still kept in a braid, had streaks of white. 

“I’ve never seen him take to anyone so quickly,” she said. “Excuse my daughter for not making proper introductions. My name is Vaynatah Norvayn.”

A moment passed before he could find his voice. 

“Venim,” he said. “That’s your maiden name, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I prefer my mother’s family name—” Confusion crossed her features. “Wait. How did you know that?”

Slowly, he undid his cowl, letting it fall about his neck. A look of shock and disbelief replaced her confusion. She set Ayem on the nearest shelf. 

“Zurayna, go put on a pot of tea for our guest.” Her voice was even, almost monotone with careful control. Her daughter ducked into the next room. When she had gone, Azuran took Vaynatah’s hand and kissed it. 

“It is good to see you again,” he murmured. 

She reached out to his face and ran a finger along the scar on his jaw.

“Azuran,” she breathed. 

Before he could respond, before he could even think of one word to say, she flung her arms around his neck. Tears wetted his shoulder. 

“I knew you were alive,” she cried. “When Red Mountain erupted, I knew you would be safe. I knew you would be miles and miles away, thank Azura.”

He held her close. He had forgotten how well she fit into his arms. Her whole form shook with sobs; in spite of his best effort, he could not restrain his own tears. He let them fall. Being near to her again, feeling her pressed against him after so long—it felt as though he had been holding his breath and could finally breathe again. 

She drew away, still clutching at his robes. 

“Where have you been all these years?”

“Everywhere.”

She nodded, then jostled him playfully, grinning all the while. 

“Come sit with me,” she laughed. “I want to hear everything.”

She led him into the side room, where Zurayna was setting out the tea things on a low table between two chairs. 

“You two must want to catch up,” she said. “I’ll leave you to it.”

She headed back upstairs. Vaynatah and Azuran took their seats. 

“So,” she said, a tinge of embarrassment replacing her excitement. “Tell me about your travels. And your life. And—goodness, everything I’ve missed.”

“Well. There’s a lot to tell; you go first.”

“Oh, you always keep me waiting,” she chuckled. Her brow furrowed in thought. “Let’s see… things weren’t easy after we parted ways. Running an entire plantation with almost no experience was an even bigger challenge than I thought. Luckily the workers who stayed taught me what I needed to know.”

“And your friend. Did she stay?”

“For a few years. Then she left very suddenly, saying that the Hist called her home. Never saw her after that.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.”

She waved the comment away. 

“Don’t be. We parted on good terms,” she said. “And after all, I didn’t go through all the trouble of freeing her just to chain her to me. And the years that she stayed were happy. She was happy.”

“I hope you were happy too.”

She sipped her tea. 

“For the most part I was busy,” she said. “But I did manage to save some time for myself. I even got to travel, in spite of all the work.”

“Good, good. Where did you go?”

“The first place I went was Cyrodill, but that trip went downhill fast.”

“Don’t tell me you were there during the Oblivion Crisis,” he said, leaning forward in his chair. 

“I got quite involved, actually. Perhaps too involved,” she glanced away, her expression unreadable. “Anyway, it wasn’t long after that that my first daughter was born. Martia. She looks so much like her father. I swear, at a distance she could pass for an Imperial.”

“I take it you met her father in Cyrodill.”

She nodded. 

“He and I went through a lot together.”

Her expression grew distant and thoughtful. 

“It’s… unfortunate,” he said, “how we outlive so many. To know that we will likely bury those we love. Especially if they aren’t Mer.”

“Mmm. The sad thing is that we weren’t even together a year before he died. It might not have even been a month; I can’t remember.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“My dear, if you apologize every time my story is sad, you’ll have nothing but apologies.”

“A fair point.” He sipped his tea. “So, what happened after you survived the Crisis?”

“I went home. The plantation had just started turning a decent profit when the eruption happened.”

“So you did it? Without slave labor?”

“It was hard, but I did it. Rather, we did it. Shame it all went up in smoke.”

“That must have been heartbreaking.”

“I was just glad that we all made it out alive. The Argonians were kind enough to tell us that something was up. The Hist warned them, you see. And when every Argonian you know flees the island, you know you’re on a sinking ship,” she said with a laugh. 

“I assume you went to Skyrim then.”

“Yes, just before the flood of refugees.”

“I hope the Nords were more hospitable to you than they were to me,” he grumbled. 

“Some were. In fact, I actually married one of them.”

Azuran struggled to hide his shock. 

“Oh—Zurayna’s father…?”

“He’s where she got her red hair,” she said with a little smile. “Her older sister has yellow hair, if you can believe it.”

“Martia?”

“Nerevah. Sorry, I should have clarified that I have three daughters. Between the two eldest, I have more grandchildren than I know what to do with.”

“Ah.”

Her smile grew wider. She had laugh lines now, he noticed; it took everything in him not to get up from his seat and kiss them. But she would not want to kiss him, he was sure. She had found a man who stayed. Even if he was no longer with her, it was an impossible act to follow. 

She touched a bit of carved bone that hung around her neck. A look of resignation came over her, neither happy nor sad. 

“Did he make that for you?” he said. 

She nodded. 

“A wedding present. It… it keeps him close.”

She shook her head and sighed, then resumed her cheerful manner. 

“But that’s enough about me,” she said. “Tell me about all the places you’ve been.”

He leaned back in his chair. 

“Nowhere special,” he said. “Summerset. Valenwood. Atmora.”

She choked on her tea. 

“Atmora?” she said. 

He grinned at her sidelong. 

“Atmora.”

She gripped his arm, barely in her seat. 

“Tell me!” she said. 

“I wasn’t there for long,” he said, trying to ignore how his skin prickled at her touch. “The sun never set all the way. And there were places that were almost warm, where the trees were clear like living ice. I could—” he looked down. “I could feel the quake. When it happened.”

“I was in Skyrim at the time, and I felt it. I had even given up the Aetherium to help keep the Ingenium running, but…” She shook her head. “I guess it didn’t work.”

It did not surprise him that she gave up that power. After all, she had already given up her freedom; an enchanted necklace was such a small thing in comparison. 

“It’s strange to think about,” he muttered. “I spent so much of my young life trying to get away from Morrowind. And now that it’s gone, all I can think about is how much I miss it.”

She stared into her teacup. 

“I miss the mushroom trees on the banks of the Odai,” she said. 

“Getting lost in Vivec City.”

“The stars over Gnaar Mok.”

“That night in Balmora,” he chuckled. 

Her tone grew serious. She gave him a meaningful look.

“That night in Sadrith Mora,” she said. “Do you remember?”

The tips of his ears burned at the mention. 

“Yes, I remember.”

She laughed. 

“Two hundred years, and you still blush like a schoolboy,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”

She pressed a hand to his. He could not help but suck in a breath. That became a cough; he covered his mouth with his sleeve and tried to regain control. There came a cool touch on his back; Vaynatah had knelt by his side and was casting a healing spell. 

“You poor thing,” she murmured. “Still sick after all these years.”

“It’s not so bad anymore. I don’t even notice most days.”

One hand still rested on his. He wondered at this. After all this time, after the happiness and stability she found, would she really want to throw in her lot with him?

“I kept your letters,” she said quietly. “They were ruined in a flood some years back, but I did keep them.”

She drew closer. Against his better judgement, he clasped her hand. She laced her fingers through his. 

“I’m glad,” he said, leaning forward. “Flattered, even. I mean, not that I expected anything different. Not that I had expectations—it just seemed like something you would do.”

She gave a little laugh. Her lips were so close that he could easily reach them. He held back. He was being presumptuous. There could be a dozen other reasons why she had come so near. He did not want to ruin his oldest friendship by forcing an old romance back to the surface. 

“Azuran?” She startled him from his thoughts. 

“—Yes?”

“Why don’t you kiss me?”

“Do you want me to—?”

He could not finish the question. The hand on his back moved to cradle his neck, and she guided him gently closer. She pressed her lips to his. 

He sucked in a breath and held it, fearful that he might cough if he let it go. A chill passed between them, the soothing cold he remembered. He breathed—and did not choke. But even that miracle could not hold his attention, so overwhelmed as he was by the fact that she had wanted to kiss him, after all. The realization set his heart racing. Even now, after gaining wealth and a family, she still wanted a broken wanderer. 

He did not understand. 

He also did not care. 

He threw his arms around her in a close embrace. The shape of it felt like home. It was the only place that ever had. 

A moment later, she pulled away. The cold of her absence almost hurt compared to the subtle cool of her magic. She traced her fingers along his jaw. 

“Imagine a man your age being so nervous,” she chuckled. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Older than I ever thought I’d be.”

“You really haven’t changed.”

It may have been the glimmer of candlelight in her eyes or the pout of her lip, but in a blink, he decided to prove her wrong. He pulled her close again and stole the smile from her lips. 

“I have changed,” he said.

“I can see that,” she said, a little breathless. 

“You must understand—nothing lasts on the road. Clothes, food, even friends.” 

“Yes? And…?”

“What I mean to say is,” he gripped her arms, “I want—I mean—I’m ready for something that lasts.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’ve been to every province in Tamriel and more. I’ve seen everything I want to see. And you know what I’ve found? I want to do it all over again. But this time, I want to do it with someone.” He got down on the floor with her. “I’d like that someone to be you, if you’re willing. If not, then I humbly ask to stay for as long as you’ll have me. I would rather share a cage with you than fly alone again.”

He had spoken so fast that he trembled for want of air. He met Vaynatah’s eyes, half hopeful, half terrified of what he might find there. Tears gleamed on her lashes. 

“This is so much,” she said in a tremulous voice. 

The sound all but gutted him. He should have known better. What did he expect, for her to drop everything for him? Or to invite him into the family that she created with other, more worthy men? He truly was a fool. 

He got to his feet. 

“I’m sorry—I should not have asked,” he stammered. 

She stood and took him by the sleeve, keeping him there. 

“It’s alright,” she said. “I’ll need some time to think it over. And maybe arrange some things.”

“You will?” His heart leapt from anguish to joy. 

“I will.” She looked away, lips pursed in an effort to hide a grin. “And seeing as how I’ll need to think it over for some time, I don’t see why I should have to stay here while I do so. I’ve been meaning to visit my granddaughter in Winterhold. I could just as well do my thinking there. Although…”

“Yes?”

“It’s been so long since I’ve traveled. Do you know of a guide who could escort me there?”

He could not hold back his own grin. 

“I do,” he said. “But he’ll want a healer with him.”

“That can be arranged.”

She took his hand and kissed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, her granddaughter is Brelyna XD
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read this far. My story is but a niche in a dying fandom, and I've loved getting to share it with you. Wealth beyond measure, my fellow outlanders.
> 
> P.S. If you want an extra helping of angst, listen to "Another Place" by Bastille.


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